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On Herd Duty at Morton’s Ranch. — Page 58. 







r H E 

UPPER TRAIL 

BY 

MARY A. MacIVOR 



BOSTON 

THE ROXBURGH PUBLISHING COMPANY 


INCORPORATED 


Copyrighted 1912 
By Mary A. MacIvor 
All Rights Reserved 




gC!.A3l281 4 


CHAPTER I. 


TRAILING THE THIEVES. 

There was only one light in Red River Station; 
therefore, I dismounted in front of the building 
from which it shone, dropped the bridle reins over 
my horse’s head, and entered. It was a saloon. In 
reaching this conclusion my sense of smell was sup- 
ported by the sight of a number of kegs at one end 
of the room and a rude bar at the other — there was 
nothing else whatever to suggest that this was a 
place where men were wont to quench their thirst. 
Behind the bar was a negro, asleep on his feet, his 
head rolled forward on the counter like a pumpkin 
on a vine ; and nearer to me, but dim in the shadow 
of the bar, was a fat man astride a chair, asleep like 
the negro. The fat man filled the chair and hung 
over its edges, like over-light bread over its tin ; his 
face was puffy, and his hands, hanging limp from 
his great trunk, were padded with fat. But now a 
sound reached me — a sort of squeak of delight, and 
as this increased to a laugh, I turned and saw 
through a doorway beyond, and a number of men 
seated at tables, laughing and playing cards. One 
of them might be the man I wanted. But I did not 
go in to see. In fact, I should not have known my 
man had I met him face to face. Besides, something 
else engaged my mind. I had ridden far ; my break- 
fast was as though it had never been, and my dinner 
had been jolted past any remembering. I crossed to 


2 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


the door of the hall, with the intention of making 
inquiry relating to food and lodging. The men at 
the tables were cowboys, ranchers, and two or three 
others, who did not lend themselves readily to any 
classification. Their play absorbed them. At the 
moment of my entrance the room was in complete 
silence ; at the close of the hand it was in an uproar 
of laughter and good-natured curses. As they 
laughed they glanced at me, and — looked away. 
Then the dealing began again. Three tables there 
were, with several men at each, and near one table a 
man was standing watching the game. To this man 
my eye came back after a general survey of the 
room, drawn there by what we will have to call mag- 
netic attraction, until science can fathom and name 
that force which makes for friendship, admiration 
and love, before any trait of character or personal 
perfection can be known. For as I looked at the 
man standing there, all unconscious of the perfect 
picture he made, I felt the first thrill of what was to 
be more than the commonplace between him and me. 

He was unlike the others, and yet unlike in a way 
hard to define. His dress was that of the other cow- 
boys ; broad, white hat, knotted bandanna at neck, a 
shirt of heavy flannel, a cartridge belt and revolver, 
and fringed, leathern chaps. He stood, as I said, 
watching the game, with his hat pushed back from a 
foretop of red hair, his arms folded, and a smile, 
half curious, half sarcastic, upon his handsome, boy- 
ish face. As I looked at him he spoke, and the 
gentle cadence of his Southern accent reached me 
with no word to spoil its music. And I gazed 
amazed — could a man, so big, so strong, so full of 
the very essence and power of manhood speak thus ? 


THE UPt>ER TRAIL 


3 


And I decided that not this bleak prairie, nor this 
wild life had bred that voice. It was the South! 
and yet more than the South — it was aristocracy 
speaking for generations of culture. And an ex- 
traneous thought crept in : if the men of this land 
sing thus, what must the voice of its women be? 
And I smiled over this vagrant thought that had 
harked after me from far shores of civilization. 

And then into my complacency broke the knowl- 
edge that a cowboy at the table nearest me was 
giving me his whole attention. I turned and spoke 
hurriedly to this man. What I intended saying was : 
‘‘Where will I find food and lodging?’’ This is what 
I did say: “Who is the young man standing?” 

The cowboy gave one swift glance, then raised 
half-closed eyes to mine, stuck a long nose forward 
and said: 

“That yonder is a Texas wind-splitter, sir. He 
can tame a broncho by the word of his mouth; he 
can ride anything covered with hair; he can go 
through an entire round-up without cussin’, and can 
sing a herd of stampeded cattle to sleep. He is a 
gentleman every day in the week, just as good in 
town as he is on the range, and big-feelin’ without 
the need of whiskey.” 

“Well!” I exclaimed in admiration of this cow- 
boy’s volubility. And then, as he continued to look 
at me and I felt the need of further remark, I said : 
“I should like to know him.” 

“So would I, stranger.” 

“Oh!” I was surprised. “I thought from your 
high compliment that he was a friend of yours,” I 
said, smiling. 

“I reckon he is a friend o’ mine, all right. But I 


4 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


don’t happen to be on to the workings of his mind 
as easy as I get on to yourn.” 

‘‘Indeed !” I felt affronted, but continued 
amicably, “You would be rather dangerous company 
for a man with secrets.” 

He looked at me, still from between those nar- 
rowed lids. “Want bed and supper?” he asked. 

“Say !” My surprise had grown to wonder- 
ment. “Maybe now you can tell me my name?” I 
said, trying to put sarc^m in my tone. 

He gave a shrug. “A man’s name’s nothin’ — he 
can change that. I’ve changed mine five times ” 

But here a player at this table interrupted with : 

“You’ll play cards. Sleepy, or leave this bunch.” 

The words were of ugly accent, and I, looking at 
the speaker, found him of no fair front. He sat 
humped over, and looked up without raising his 
head, an act that seamed his forehead with deep 
furrows, and brought the line of his hair almost to 
his eyes. And this hair held my attention. I would 
have pronounced it false, but that no sane person 
would buy false hair so unlike the natural. It grew 
so thick, and each hair so persistently stood erect, 
and its color was so peculiar — the nameless shade of 
old hay — that I could recall nothing that it re- 
sembled. And his skin, his eyes, his teeth, even, 
were of that same nameless hue, as was his chest, 
bare and hairy, beneath an open shirt. As he looked 
at his cards, he drew his scalp lower, jerked it 
toward one ear and then toward the other, adding a 
hideous grotesqueness to his natural ugliness. Of 
my inspection he took no notice. No more of 
Sleepy’s prompt retort, “Losin’ don’t sweeten your 
temper none, Chad.” And I saw now that this 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


5 


‘'Sleepy’’ had quite a pile of coin in front of him. 

In another minute he had won again, and I be- 
came interested in the way his long fingers mingled 
with the cards, as he shuffled the deck. From this 
amusement I looked up, fairly into the eyes of the 
red-haired young man. Fie had crossed the room 
and was standing but a few feet from me. I seemed 
to feel a prickling sensation of my flesh as his gaze 
traveled from my face to my boot and back again to 
my face. But whatever of assurance or distrust this 
inspection netted him he made no sign; his glance 
went on to the players, and he spoke to them in his 
gentle Southern voice. “How are yu. Sleepy?” 
“Evenin’, Chad.” 

And now Chad became animated. Interest lit up 
his dull eyes. The furrows went out of his face, 
leaving only lines of a lighter dinginess. Something 
approximate to a smile hovered around a corner of 
his mouth. But he spoke casually, “Just get in. 
Red?” 

“Just got in.” 

“Any luck?” 

“No luck.” 

The smile widened, lifting a lip and showing the 
dull teeth for an instant before he said : 

“The other fellers didn’t care to face the crowd, 
eh?” 

“They ain’t back yet, I reckon.” 

“Yu all divided, then?” 

“Yes, divided. ” 

“They ought to be back to-night, game or no 
game.” 

“I figured they would.” 

Chad yawned and picked up the hand Sleepy had 


6 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


dealt to him. ‘Tm too damned sleepy to play/’ he 
remarked, the heavy scowl returning to his face. 

''Been stayin’ out late o’ nights?” Red asked, be- 
hind him. 

Chad laid down his cards "and turned, an ugly 
gleam in his eyes. Red did not seem to notice. He 
followed his question : 

"I been losin’ sleep myself,” he stated casually. 
"I’d have been poundin’ my eah this half hour if I 
hadn’t ’lowed them fellers would get in to-night.” 

"Morton’s expectin’ them, too,” said Sleepy, his 
long nose in his cards. 

"Ya-ah,” said Red. "I seen him as I come in.” 

"Sleep, wasn’t he?” 

"Sleepin’ and wheezin’.” 

"A right easy way he has o’ helpin’ hunt down 
cattle thieves.” 

"Too easy.” 

And at once it seemed that all interest in cards 
was at an end. Sleepy laid down his hand and 
raked in his winnings with his long, bony fingers as 
he arose. The other tables were likewise deserted. 
The players came forward, anticipation written on 
every face. All watched Red and Sleepy, as they 
tiptoed lightly to the door and cautiously peeped into 
the barroom. I had not an idea what it was all 
about. But I had gathered this much: Cattle had 
been stolen and a posse had gone in search of them 
and the thieves. They were expected back at any 
moment. These men were waiting up for them and 
their news. But what was going to happen now ? 

Excitement pervaded the atmosphere of the hall. 
I breathed it in at every breath. An amused interest 
stirred within me as I stood, in company with the 


THEUPPER TRAIL 7 

others, intently watching Red and Sleepy as they 
whispered together at the doorway. 

‘'What's up?" I finally asked of the man beside 
me. “What are they going to do ?" 

He frowned at my words and did not reply. 

Red passed noiselessly into the other room, and 
Sleepy chuckled with delight as he watched the 
stealthy movements of his confederate. In a mo- 
ment Red returned and triumphantly laid some 
object on the table. We all crowded forward to 
look at it. It was a purse and fat with bills or 
papers. Had Red taken it from the fat man's 
pocket? Evidently he had done just that! Were 
we in a city we should all be in a police court in the 
morning. But we were not in a city, and I was, con- 
sequently, at a loss to know what would happen. 
My amusement gave place to astonishment and my 
interests was keen indeed. 

Red and Sleepy were again whispering together. 
At some final word from Red, Sleepy gave a joyful, 
if subdued yelp, and bounded through a rear door. 
Alen pushed forward and gathered around Red. I 
heard their question, “What is it going to be ?" But 
the answer I did not hear. It was whispered 
cautiously, and upon receiving it each man looked 
at me. A shiver ran through my interest. I would 
have been glad, just then, to have seen the blue coat 
of a policeman. I decided to have no part in this 
affair, and my hunger urged itself as an excuse for 
departure. I addressed a rancher standing near, 
asking, “Is there any place in this town where a man 
can get something to eat?" 

A smile crossed his face ; he tried to wipe it off 
with the back of his hand and succeeded only par- 


8 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


tially, — he had been up and heard the whisper. But 
he answered me so politely that my uneasiness was 
checked. 

'‘The town’s about ett out, seh, — so many hangin’ 
around these days,” he said. 

'T understand,” I hastened to say. "Some cattle 
have been stolen?” 

"Yes, sah, yearlings from Joe Darling’s herd, seh.” 

"Ah, a bad business.” I was glad for the warmth 
of words after my chill, and I asked : "Do you have 
much trouble of that kind here?” 

"Right smart — at times. It kind comes steady by 
jerks, like a frog a-walkin’.” 

"I see,” I replied, wholly warmed by his wit. 
"They commit a crime and then lay low for a time, 
letting vigilance subside.” 

But the rancher turned his back suddenly upon 
me. And while I was wondering at such conduct in 
so kindly a man, I felt the grip of strong hands. 
Before I could speak, before I could move, even, a 
handkerchief was clapped over my mouth and my 
arms pinned down and bound with ropes. 

Thus bound and gagged, I was hustled out at the 
rear door and around to the front. I cannot tell you 
of the picture I presented, but if my appearance was 
in keeping with the state of my mind, it was ter- 
rible. And this I know — the way I acted, and the 
sounds I emitted from behind my mask, were so 
un-human, that my horse took fright and ran off, 
delaying further movement until he was caught and 
tied. Then I was thrust forward into the saloon, 
amid much cursing and occasional cries of "Thief !” 

The tumult awoke Morton. He rolled out of his 
chair, upsetting it in his haste, and stood blinking at 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


9 


me like a great owl at the sun. The men now began 
to walk around and inspect me, as if I were someone 
whom they had scarcely seen. During this process 
they cursed me roundly, and an occasional one shook 
his fist in my face and denounced me as a robber. 

'‘Wha — wha — cha — wha ’’ blabbed Morton, 

still blinking. 

Sleepy now took his turn — how I would have en- 
joyed a free hand just then to have knocked him 
down! The others made way for him, and he 
danced up and down as he menaced me, saying : 

''Yu thief! Yu coward of a thief! Yu sneak! 
To come in here and rob an innocent man 
that was sleepin’ and dreamin’ of heaven!’’ Then 
he turned to the crowd to add, "I say he ought to 
be hung!” 

"Ya-ah ! Yep ! Yip !” they yelled angrily. 

"Who’s — who’d he rob?” gasped Morton, begin- 
ning to grasp the situation. 

"Look through your pockets and see, sell,” said 
Red. 

And I turned cold and then hot, and then both 
cold and hot at once. I no longer longed for a free 
hand — I used my free feet. But they grabbed me 
and held me, and through the haze of my terror I 
saw Morton grow frantic in his search for his 
purse. I saw his face grow purple and then gray. I 
saw him coming for me, and saw the rage in his eye. 
Bound and helpless, I seemed turning to stone, when 
suddenly my feet shot from under me and I was 
whirled across the room amid cries of : "Hold him 
thar! Hold him, fellers!” I began to doubt my 
own senses. 

And now Morton faced about and charged again. 


10 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Once more my wits were stock still and my muscles 
as limp as withered reeds. And once more I shot 
forward in time to escape his maddened rush. There 
could be no doubt about it — the crowd was keeping 
me out of his way. And glancing about I discovered 
two or three of them in dark corners all doubled up 
with laughing. I was too much astonished to be 
angry. 

After another rush or two Morton seemed to have 
spent himself. His fury left him weak and childish. 
He began to beg and implore the men to get his 
money for him. As he toddled from one to another, 
holding a red handkerchief by one corner and 
dragging it after him, and, as one after another in 
the crowd exploded with mirth, it all suddenly 
dawned upon me. And I made a* noise from behind 
my gag which sounded to my ears like the bray of a 
mule. Morton heard it and stared around, pro- 
ducing a silence heavy enough to be felt. 

‘'We — we all caught him just as he was slipping 
out,’’ hazarded a cow-puncher. 

And they backed him up. 

“Red seen him first.” 

“Sleepy knocked him as senseless as a loaf of 
bread.” 

“Then Red grabbed your money bag.” 

And the red-haired young man, with face as 
serious as any judge, produced the wallet in proof 
of that statement. 

Morton stood and stared. But when his fingers 
touched his purse his wits returned. 

“Whiskey!” he bawled in the voice of a giant. 
“Set out your best here! — you black-faced com-me- 
die ! The best you got — hear me !” Then he waved 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


11 


a hand hospitably to the crowd: ''Step up, gentle- 
men. Step up!'’ 

They stepped up, nudging each other and whis- 
pering behind Morton's back. I was left alone. I 
could have escaped easily. But I had no desire to 
go. Instead I sank down on the floor and made 
again that sound of a mule separated from its side- 
partner. Morton, completely worked up and buying 
whiskey for his tormentors, and his "black-faced 
com-me-die" was too much for my gravity, although 
I was bound and gagged. 

But Morton did not hear me this time. These 
men had captured a thief and brought his money 
back to him! They should not want for whiskey 
this night. He begged them help themselves, and 
they were not backward. Then Sleepy gave a de- 
tailed account of my capture which so pleased both 
audience and host that more whiskey was called for. 
As the liquor warmed Morton, his appreciation grew 
and grew. He strutted about the flanks of the crowd, 
slapping shoulders and giving praise as freely as he 
gave whiskey. 

"I think yu must have made some sound, seh," 
said Red, who knew his man. "I thought I heard a 
groan." 

"Like as not I did groan out," Morton agreed. "I 
don't sleep sound no time." 

"Maybe now he gave yu some dope, Morton." 

Morton's eyes bulged. He took a long breath and 
passed a hand over his huge stomach, but shook his 
head. 

"If yu had waked up just as he was bendin' ovah 
yu " said Red, pausing at the right word. 

"Huh!" Morton exploded at the idea. "You 
all would have seen a fight then — a fight, b' gin !" 


12 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘‘One worth money to see/’ agreed the compil- 
mentary Sleepy. 

“Huh !” Morton went again. “I’d have made him 
think he was slugged.” And he glared at me as if 
he had a mind to try it yet. Red and Sleepy stepped 
between us. I appreciated their thoughtfulness. 

“Morton used to be a great fighter. Ever heard 
how he and Reynolds fit oncet?” asked Sleepy of 
the crowd. 

“Morton laid Reynolds out, did he?” 

“Oh, cold as death !” declared Sleepy. 

“So Morton’s the man as put that scar over Jack 
Reynolds’ eye, is he?” 

“Sure! Hadn’t yu alls heard?” 

They had heard. 

But Morton went “Huh!” And I knew at once 
that they had had enough whiskey and were 
coddling him now. And they laid it on heavy. Mor- 
ton kept his temper for a while, but his patience 
gave out at last. Only his sense of gratitude toward 
them made him hold in as long as he did. I give the 
conversation to you in part: 

“But yu ought to have seen Morton when he was 
young !” 

“High stepper, was he?” 

“Oh, dandy!” 

“Cut up with wimmen, did he?” 

“Lord, no ! The girls didn’t like him.” 

“Shoo!” 

“Yu alls have heard about that po-etry he writ? 
No? It’s a lot of sweet stuflf — I’ve seen it, and it 
ain’t fit for one of my age to read none — about 
Chaw-rels and his Mandy, but the Major made it 
rhyme somehow.” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


13 


''Shoo! Then the Major’s baby name was 
Chaw-rels ?” 

"Ya-ah.” 

"How did he get the title o’ Major?” 

"Earned it.” 

"Git out ! Morton ain’t been in no war.” 

"He earned the name of Major.” 

"How’d he earn it, then ?” 

"Skinnin’ hawgs in Arkansaw.” 

Morton was able to add his "Ha! ha!” to the 
laughter of the others this time, but it was growing 
weak. 

"And the po-etry didn’t do him no good?” 

"No — ^the girls all made heads at him.” 

"Must have been idjits.” 

"Plumb idjoots. And him searchin’ all Texas fer 
a wife.” 

"He come to Texas young, yu say?” 

"Young? He alius lived here. He was Texas’ 
first resident white man — like Adam was in 
Genesis.” 

"Yu don’t say !” 

"Ya-ah, he sure enough was. Why, Morton was 
here roundin’ up mauvericks before Alamo.” 

"Yu don’t say!” 

"Straight goods I’m givin’ yu. Every steer that 
came over the lines Morton clapped his brand onto. 
And nobody was here to dispute his right nor his 
range. But he wasn’t happy.” 

"Shoo! Somethin’ eatin’ on him, was there?” 

"Eatin’ ? Yu bet ! Why, he couldn’t sleep o’ night 
fer dreamin’, and mornin’, noon and evenin’ was bad 
for him, he was wantin’ a mate that bad. He tried 
for every white woman within two hundred miles.” 


14 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


^^Old ones wouldn't take him neither?" 

‘‘None. Then he tried the Spaniards. And then 
the Injuns." 

“Squaws turned him down, yu say?" 

“Sure enough." 

But it was at this point that Morton's anger mas- 
tered him. He began to prance. “Never did court 
no squaw," he snapped in shrill heat. “What do you 
take me for? I'd as soon marry a nigger as an 
Injun." 

But Sleepy went on, with face of unchanging 
gravity and a vast amount of assurance. 

“After tryin' for a squaw the Major was about 
crazy until he heard of the Catholics." 

“Catholics ?" 

“Ya-ah, — over at Santa F-e-e. They have con- 
vents, yu know, and they put girl babies into them, 
and keep 'em there till they are grown up wimmeh, 
never lettin' 'em so much as see a man." 

“Yu don't say! And Morton, he went there?" 

“Yu bet ! And he stol'd one out 1" 

“That's a lie!" bawled Morton, thoroughly hot 
now, “a black lie, hatched in your infernal 
heathen head ! — an' you better not repeat it. Hear 
me, now?" 

“Ya-ah," responded the complacent Sleepy. “I 
hear yu. Major. And I will say yu didn't steal her 
bodily. Yu just hung around — Morton he did, yu 
know," he added to the crowd, “till one day she 
that's Mrs. Morton now, she got to see his purty 
face." 

“B' gin, you're fishin' for trouble, young man," 
roared Morton. “Hear me ? — for trouble !" 

But Sleepy continued with his talk as amicably as 
if there had been no interruption. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


15 


'‘She seen that mug o’ his a few times, and then 
she climbed over the wall and jumped down out- 
side. Pity it was, too, for all them priests and 
critters left there, for she was the star musician of 
that convent.” 

"Shoo, was she now ? But the Major was there to 
catch her when she dropped.” 

"None, — he was hid somewhere. But when he 
seen she was safe out, he made up to her, and they 
scurried away into the forests for all the world like 
a hawg and a hare. Nobody told the priests they’d 
seen ’em, and so Morton he brought her here. 
She’s been here ever since. He never married her, 
and she never sees anybody to complain to. The 
way she knows how many years it’s been since she 
left the convent is by countin’ the kids.” 

Here Sleepy dodged Morton’s fist, backed away 
and dodged again, and laughed with his long nose 
right in the Major’s face. This performance con- 
tinued amid laughter and shouts, seasoned with 
snorts and curses from Morton until the crowd 
wearied of the sport. Then someone whispered to 
me to slip out. I did so, and at once there was a 
great shout, "Stop thief ! Stop thief !” I looked 
back and saw Morton leap from the door while the 
crowd yelled, stamped and howled as they watched 
him go. 

I easily outstripped my pursuer, doubled around a 
building, and returned to the saloon. There all was 
quiet. With wonderful celerity they removed my 
incumbrances, and then reassembled themselves at 
the card tables. Breathless from excitement and the 
running, I seated myself on a convenient keg. The 
negro behind the bar, after several unsuccessful at- 


16 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


tempts, succeeded in shaping his face to something 
like repose. Then Morton came in. 

He was warm and panting. He called for help; 
he demanded of the men that they come and help 
him catch the thief. But he received no response. 
The men were intent on their game. One or two 
glanced up casually; the others might not have 
heard him so complete was their absorption. Of 
they that did hear, one said: 

‘'Morton’s waked up.” 

The Major’s face was a study. Surprise, wonder, 
doubt, anxiety and anger blended themselves in that 
tallow-cushioned countenance. He looked at me, at 
the negro, at the crowd in the room beyond. And 
then the sum total of the outrage that had been per- 
petrated upon him broke into his intelligence with an 
instantaneous smash. The blood rushed to his face 
and to his eyes. He tried to speak, but for a moment 
anger choked down all utterance. Then when the 
words did come, they came with the rush of a flood. 
“Liars,” he called them and other opprobrious epi- 
thets, singling out one after another to apply some 
special term to him. 

Some few of the players looked about in well- 
simulated surprise as he raved. And Sleepy turned 
in his chair to say in a tone of gentle solicitude : 

“Yu all have had nightmare, Morton.” 

But Morton roared back at him. He was not to 
be fooled any more. The past hour had impressed 
him too deeply for any dream. And now he turned 
loose on Red and Sleepy by turns, until the air 
seemed blue with oaths. To each he applied a flood 
of epithets, no one the same as to his confederate. I 
wondered how long he could curse and not repeat 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


17 


himself. But I did not ask. I was glad to be out 
of this. When he had exhausted himself, he went 
to the bar and asked for the bill. And Sleepy sagely 
remarked : 

''He's gettin' real nightmare now.'' 

I lingered a while, sitting on my keg. The card 
games went on without interruption. Since the 
whiskey, the betting was without the check of 
reason. I heard such phrases as, "Damn yu, I raise 
yu twenty," and "Yu son of a gun, show better'n 
fifty." Honest cards they played — games of chance. 
But the few were winning, and the many were 
losing to them. And losing without murmur or com- 
plaint the hard-earned wages of months of monot- 
onous, endless toil. 

So this was Texas ! I reviewed the evening's ad- 
venture and many things puzzeld me. It would have 
been a mistake to have believed all of Sleepy's tirade 
on Morton; my resolve to believe none of it was 
quite as erroneous. Cowboys' yarns are fiction, but 
fiction founded on fact. But the personal side ! In 
this obscure wilderness was nothing hidden? Here 
where there was no law, was punishment dealt with 
only a difference as to methods ? And I smiled over 
my wish for a policeman. Had it been granted, a 
jail had been full by now, and the morning papers 
had been in a like condition. But here in this virgin 
wilderness neither police nor newspapers had come. 
So the affair was ended, and, no doubt, forgotten 
by all save myself, and perhaps Morton. 

I glanced at his chair and there he sat again, sleep- 
ing, his head toppled forward and his arms sus- 
pended inert ; his coat hanging from either shoulder 
— a drape at the sides of a bulging expanse of shirt 


18 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


front; and his wallet safe inside his pocket. His 
wheezing came to me, and at once I was almost ever- 
powered with drowsiness. I must find a place to 
sleep. 

I got down stiffly from my perch on the keg. My 
muscles were weary and sore, my hunger completely 
forgotten in the overwhelming call of my nerves for 
rest. Seeing the negro busy behind the bar, I ap- 
proached him with the question foremost in my 
mind, ‘'Where can I find a place to sleep ?” 

“Dun-no, boss,’^ he said, turning very large eyes 
with rims of ivory toward me. “I dun-no, ’less yu 
can get in with Ed’s mothah.” 

Now to “get in with Ed’s mother” was to me 
altogether vague. Additional information was 
needed. I inquired : 

“What is Ed’s name ? And where does his mother 
live?” 

“Ed’s name is Ed, sah,” the darky replied, curi- 
osity beginning to shine in his dark eye. “Thar ain’t 
no more to his name as I knows of. Like as not 
there is more to it, but he has no ide-e what it is, 
sah. ’Pears ” 

“Well,” I demanded impatiently, “what is his 
mother’s name — Mrs. — who?” 

“Well, now, I ’spects yu all will hev to ask her 
that, sah. She’s done livin’ in the end house, on the 
right-hand side of your right han’, and on the left- 
hand side of your left han’, on t’other side of 
Gingahbread Duncan’s barn, about half way ’tween 
hyah an’ the Lowah Trail, sah.” 

This was a long speech for the darky, and he was 
plainly proud of its making, as was shown by the 
wise roll he gave to his eyes as he finished. Had I 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


19 


have been in a normal condition I should have roared 
with laughter. But I was not normal ; I was tired 
past any previous experience; I was sleepy and I 
felt ill-used. Therefore, I turned away with a sniff 
of ill humor. As I did so I beheld Sleepy regarding 
me curiously from the doorway. 

‘'Can you direct me to Ed’s mother’s place?” 1 
asked in a tone much louder than was necessary. 

‘T reckon I can oblige yu,” said Sleepy politely. 

I gathered up my belongings. As I did so Red put 
his head in at the door to say, ‘T’ll put your hawss 
out, if yu like, seh.” 

I thanked him, adding, ‘T was wondering what I 
could do for him.” 

‘T’ll see to him, seh,” said Red. 

So here they were, these two, anxious to do kind- 
ness to me in recompense, I thought, for their fun 
earlier in the night. Sleepy walked with me to the 
very door of the house I sought. As he went I ques- 
tioned him about many things, the cow-puncher 
called Red among the number. His answers were 
the shortest possible. “Ya-ah,” he said, and “No,” 
and “Sure enough.” But I gathered from our con- 
versation that the red-haired young man was a 
peculiar sort of cowboy, in that he did not play cards 
or drink whiskey, but that the frolic which he had 
planned on Morton was quite in his line. 

But we were at the door of the house. Very small 
it seemed to me, barely two rooms — not space for 
many lodgers — and I feared it was full. I turned to 
say something of this, but Sleepy was bidding me 
good night, very solemnly. Then he added : 

“I hope yu will find enjoyment, sir.” 

The nature of this polite wish puzzled me. But 


20 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


on the reflection of a moment I decided it was the 
Texas way of saying, ‘Tleasant dreams,'’ and I 
called after the retreating cow-puncher a tardy re- 
sponse : 

‘'Oh, yes. Same to you." 

“None," he replied, “this mawnin'." 

Again I was puzzled. What did the fellow mean ? 
But my cogitations were cut short by the opening of 
the door of the house. I glanced up and gasped. 
There stood a wide woman in her night cloths ! Our 
brief conversation I need not repeat. But only this — 
When I turned away from that house I had more of 
murder in my heart than I had ever had before or 
since. 

On the saloon floor an hour later I was feeling 
fairly comfortable, stretched out with my cbat under 
my head and my face to the wall. Morton was sleep- 
ing soundly not three feet from me. His wheezy 
breathing was the only sound. In the room beyond 
the ^bles were deserted, save one, where the 
winners now played each other. The stakes were 
high, and they played silently. I slept fairly soon. 
But awoke shortly, to find myself raised on an elbow, 
listening intently to strange sounds without. The 
thud of hoofs, I heard, and the low voices of men. 
I stared around in a daze. Morton slept on peace- 
fully — the negro I could not see. But now, through 
the door, came a tall, dark man, and at his heels his 
opposite, a short, fair man, each showing great pride 
in himself — the former in glittering eye and lower- 
ing brow, the latter in a smile, broad and contagious. 
After these two came the words : 

“That's right ! Step right in there. Yu all's know 
the Greyhound all right ! I'll bet on that there." 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


21 


The posse returned ! A pulse of their triumph 
shot through me as I sprang up. For now men 
trooped in, bearing with them two bound men in 
cowboy trappings, who sank to the floor at once and 
leaned against the wall in attitude of complete 
exhaustion. 

And now the saloon filled as if by magic. The 
cowboys, the card players, the citizens of the town, 
all appeared. Talk, and laughter, and curses and 
whiskey — these were all about me. The man who 
had lost the yearlings was there. I heard his name 
again, Joe Darling. He had not been with the posse 
— they were assuring him that his steers would be in 
shortly, every hoof ! And they inquired after his 
wife's health. She was better. Darling wore a 
smile and a sandy beard. Words could not express 
his delight in the assured recovery of his property, 
nor his pride in the men who had done the work. In 
his happiness he cursed those men roundly and im- 
plored them to drink more whiskey. I saw the man 
with the scar — Reynolds, and I knew at once that 
Morton had not given it to him. He was a tall man, 
powerfully built, with the face of a bulldog; a bom 
fighter, and, I knew at a glance, proud of his scar. 
Ed I saw, and recognized before I heard him ad- 
dressed. I was sorry for him. Anyone with a heart 
would be sorry for Ed. Born unwelcome, he had 
lived in the same state, carrying his weak forehead 
and weaker chin through life, he looked what he 
was — a fatherless offspring disgraced in the posses- 
sion of a mother ! 

Yes, I was sorry for Ed. But his was not the 
nature to appreciate sympathy. He was a fool, big 
in his own conceit, and wise. That sort which men 


22 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


find a joke for an idle hour, and a thing of contempt 
in business ; the sort which mothers use as an oppo- 
site to inspire their sons to greater efforts in books. 
But Ed was important to-night. He had been with 
the posse, and I heard his thin voice and his rasping 
laugh as he mingled with the crowd, full of big talk 
about the capture of the thieves. And so I forgot 
him, and looked for my companions of the saloon. 
They were there ; Chad smiling sinisterly over a cup 
of whiskey, Sleepy wedged in beside Morton in the 
jam before the bar, and Red close beside him. He 
held no cup or bottle. His face wore an expression 
of incredulity, amounting almost to alarm. He was 
looking at the prisoners and crowding his way to 
them. The tall, dark man, towering above the others 
at the bar, saw Red. 

^'Hey, there !’’ he called over his cup. ''Yu git no 
credit for this haul. Red.’’ 

"I’m not askin’ for any, Mr. Hawkins, seh,” said 
Red, in a prompt and positive tone that seemed to 
nettle Hawkins. 

"Yu ain’t, eh? Well, I wouldn’t like to be the 
feller that quit — that’s all.” And Hawkins drained 
his cup. 

Quit ? Had Red quit the hunt for the thieves ? I 
looked at him — at the determined cut of his chin, 
the strong neck and erect, powerful back, the plump, 
muscular thigh, which filled this chap as an apple 
its peel. He quit? Not if there was anything to 
accomplish in going on ! And I watched him in 
admiration, as he quietly took stock of the prisoners. 
His look of alarm gave place to a puzzled frown. 

"Do yu know how soon the yearlings will get in ?” 
he asked of one. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


23 


The prisoner addressed turned his head. ''Nope7' 
he replied. Then, in a friendlier tone, added '‘You're 
out of the whiskey, like us, are you ?" 

"Don't take it," said Red, indifferently. "What’s 
your side of this case?" 

"There ain't but one side of this case, and that's 
facts. Them yearlings strayed down in the Beaver 
valley, and us fellers was drivin' them back to the 
herd. Them sons-of-guns couldn't spot a single steer 
— my pal here heard them say just that. Now that's 
straight ! Is this man Darling honest ?" 

"As honest as the day is long," said Red, with 
conviction. "If them yearlings ain't his'n, he will 
say so." 

"Well, then, by crackey, Sam," the prisoner said 
to his pal, "we're out of it, all right! Let him see 
the stuff and speak the truth." 

But here someone at the bar shouted at Red. 

"Hey, there 1 Don't yu be pollutin' them pris- 
oners! If yu wanted to make the acquaintance of 
them jays, yu ought to have stayed by the gang." 

It was Reynolds that spoke, and the whiskey had 
made his scar as crimson as new wound. His words 
produced a momentary hush. 

"What’s that ? Eh, what's that ?" Morton 
wriggled his way out of the jam. "Wasn't Red with 
you? What's this. Red?" 

"Oh, Red don't like to talk about it," put in Haw- 
kins sourly. "He ain't proud of hisself this evenin', 
Red ain't." 

"He ain't, eh ?" said Morton. "What's he done ?" 

"No, — he quit us, that's what! — the second day 
out. Couldn't miss the hop at the Belknap 
schoolhouse , could yu, Red?" 


24 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Red turned his head. There was nothing but sur- 
prise in his face. 

'‘Well, b’ gin V Morton muttered, as he wriggled 
his way back to the bar. "ril have some more 
whiskey, Joe.’’ 

"Who said anything about a schoolhouse?” a cow- 
boy asked then. "Where is it, and what’s it fur?” 

"Fur? It’s fur to edicate the sons and daughteis 
of Major Morton. Didn’t yu know he had off- 
spring ?” 

"Jus’ for Morton’s kids, is it?” 

"Lord, no ! Hawkins has got ’em, and Reynolds 
— Where do yu graze anyhow?” 

"Not near to no schoolhouse — the sight of one 
gives me chills.” 

"Yu won’t chill at sight of this one on the Belknap 
— a schoolma’am is goin’ to stay in it.” 

"Git out !” 

"That’s sure enough so. Ain’t it, Morton ? Ain’t 
it, Hawkins?” 

Both men agreed that it was so. And Morton 
added, "She has come, too, with her folks — from 
My-soorie.” 

And they began to question Red. "Had he seen 
her? Was she at the hop? Why wasn’t they in- 
vited ?” He gave no heed to these last questions, but 
they continued with them until the short, friendly 
man stepped out and silenced them by saying, "Red 
was not there, boys, nor do I reckon the schoolma’am 
was.” 

The cowboys only half believed him. They ad- 
dressed him as Dock, and vowed he wanted the 
schoolma’am for himself. But he only laughed at 
them. He was a very friendly man, this Dock. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


25 


Were he living where such things existed, he had 
been a Sabbath school superintendent, I thought. But 
here he was a rancher, and a bachelor, and a friend 
to who seemed to need his care. Such was my esti- 
mate of him, and it was not far wrong. 

The confusion in the room went on without in- 
terruption. Captured cattle thieves and a young 
school teacher come to the neighborhood were not 
ordinary events in the Red River country. The 
young men talked of the latter, the older ones dis- 
cussed the former; both were loud of speech, both 
gesticulated, both cursed, and the result in that little 
room was bedlam. But now. Dock approached, 
wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, as if for 
important utterance. He addressed Red. His voice 
was low. But his words surprised me more than 
any shout. They conveyed the information that Red 
had quit the posse, and, more than that, he had quit 
for no apparent reason. Dock said : 

‘'Come now. Red, square yourself. Tess up ! 
You had some sound reason for quitting us, — no- 
body need tell me you didn’t. I know you. Red ! 
And — what if you was wrong? Lots of times a man 
gets wrong ideas. But tell ’em what your notion 
was. You got to do it, boy, to square yourself with 
Hawkins and Reynolds — they’re sore.” 

‘T’ll have to stay outside of tl'mir good opinion, 
then,” said Red, “for I have nothin’ to say this 
evenin’.” 

“But you didn’t come back for no damned hop. 
Red,” urged Dock. “Deny that, anyhow.” 

“There ain’t no call to deny that, I reckon,” said 
Red. 

“But they say- 


Dock lowered his tone to a 


26 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


whisper. They were very good friends, these two. 
His words brought some color to Red’s face. I 
heard his reply. 

‘‘Mistah Hawkins has daughters of his own. I 
reckon he won’t say nothin’ that will compromise 
their teacher.” 

This evidently was not the answer that Dock 
wanted and expected. He urged again: ‘‘Now see 
here, Red, you take my advice about this thing. 
You’re a young feller, and you’re queer! — yes, you 
are, you’re damned queer ! — at times you are. And 
if folks get to thinkin’ — you know what I mean. 
This little thing may injure you for all your life.” 

“I thank yu. Dock,” Red replied. “Yu mean kind, 
I know. But I cayn’t explain nothin’ now; it’s 
neither the time nor the place.” He glanced from 
Dock to the prisoners. “It ain’t neither the time nor 
the place,” he repeated significantly. 

“Dead men tell no tales,” said Dock. 

“Them fellers’ time to be hung ain’t come yet,” 
said Red. And then, after a pause, “Thank yu the 
same, seh. I will go now and look aftah yu alls’ 
hawsses.” 

Red went out and Dock returned to the bar. He 
had not been unobserved in his conversation, for 
Reynolds said : 

“Red’s gone, has he? Didn’t know no way to 
square himself, eh?” 

Dock shook his head, more in mystery than assent, 
“Gone to look after the horses,” he replied. 

And now attention was given to the owner of the 
stolen yearlings. He asked, “When will the cattle 
get in ?” Everybody wanted to know that, so every- 
body listened. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


27 


'They oughtent to be more than a couple of hours 
behind us/’ said a member of the posse. 

"They will be here soon now/’ said another. And 
Reynolds made his way to the prisoners. 

"Want some whiskey to brace up on, kids?” he 
asked. 

"No, by thunder, not on me. Jack — not on me!” 
cried Darling. "I don’t treat the cowards that stol’d 
my cattle.” 

Many agreed with him. But Reynolds said : "On 
me, this is. Unrope them a little, there, Hawkins. 
We’ll give ’em a bracer.” 

Reynolds was feeling good, I thought. To have 
men in his power was meat and drink to him. Be- 
sides, he had a plan in mind. It was shown in his 
next words, spoken as soon as the liquor had warmed 
his prisoners, and was of ugly aspect. 

"This thing is bound to be over by daylight, kids. 
As soon as the yearlings get here and are sworn to 
by Darling. Then you fellers swing! Unless yu 
want to tell us where your home roost is. Want to 
do it? We all know that yu two striplings ain’t the 
whole gang of thieves. We know yu ain’t near the 
leaders of the gang. So if yu want to give informa- 
tion ” 

"We told you the truth,” said one, the whiskey 
having loosened a tongue that had been obstinately 
silent since the hour of capture. "And that feller you 
call Red, he said you are honest men. If you are, we 
will be free by sunrise.” 

Reynolds laughed. His plan had not worked very 
well, but the failure had not dampened his spirits. 
He ordered his captives roped up again. Then he 
filled his pipe and lit it. And finally, bidding all to 


28 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘'Hev cheers/’ he sprawled down upon the floor. 
Many followed his example. I found a keg, and 
others were made of service, as was the bar itself ; 
thus was the place changed into quite an amphi- 
theatre. Red came in and found floor space. All 
were bent upon getting something out of the pris- 
oners — enjoyment or information. Reynolds led off, 
making, this time, an oblique start. 

‘'Business rushin’ with yu all’s gang this season ?” 

No answer. 

“Must be mighty rushin’ when two cooks like 
yu all are sent out on a job like this here.” 

And that, with the laughter it provoked, brought 
hot retort. 

“That’s all right,” said he of the loosened tongue. 
“We know enough to tend to our own business, and 
that is more than you nigger-suckers knows how, or 
ever will have sense.” 

“Hear that, now,” said Reynolds, in a big voice. 
“Mamma’s boy used to recite Dan’l Webster before 
he jined the James gang — as cook.” 

More laughter. 

“Which of you is Frank James?” Ed asked, and 
snorted out laughing at his imagined wit. But the 
men did not join him. Reynolds grew reminiscently 
boastful. 

“Well, b’ Jack, did yu ever hear of anything like 
this thing, fellers ?” he asked, and looked around. “A 
pair of Oklahoma cattle thieves captured red-handed 
with the goods, and all done without noise enough to 
wake the birds?” 

“Did yu fellers do it that-a-way ?” asked Darling, 
agape. 

“Sure ! But I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t 
seen it done,” said Hawkins. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


29 


^^Not a gun out/’ said Dock. 

They seemed to let this soak in. Then Reynolds 
said : 

''Ed, there, kept yellin’, 'Git his pistol! Git his 
pistol !’ Was yu afraid of an accidental discharge, 
Ed?” 

"Ya-ah,” said Ed, coloring under the laugh. Then 
spying Red, and anxious to divert attention from 
himself, he said, "Don’t you wish you had staid with 
'us. Red? — till we got ’em?” 

Red gave no heed to this question — no more to a 
gruff laugh which Hawkins let out. This Red had, 
I discerned, a cool way of ignoring things. Dock 
took his place. 

"Red’s been doing something. I’ll bet,” he said, 
with confidence. 

"Huh,” said Hawkins. "If I had the pickin’ of a 
trade for him I’d say, 'Be a preacher,’ — they have a 
lawful right to flee from a fight. I used to think 
Red had sand.” 

"He has,” said a cow-puncher. "He’s been makin’ 
up to the schoolma’am, ain’t yu. Red? — and that 
takes sand, yu bet 1” 

And now that thing which Dock had whispered to 
Red came out. He colored again under it. But he 
did not deny the part attributed to him. It was an 
improbable tale, epic in character, in which Red, as 
a dashing highwayman, met, wooed and ruined a 
young woman, the schoolma’am. It was, doubtless, 
highly entertaining in the spontaneity of first utter- 
ance, and had greatly lessened the weariness of trail- 
ing the stolen yearlings. But had served its purpose, 
and should never have been repeated. Red calmly 
ignored it as being any affair of his, and Hawkins 
was forced to come to the defense of the lady. 


30 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘‘Our schoolma’am ain’t that kind,” he said. “She 
is to live with her folks, — they are recommended as 
a high-up fambly.” 

“So yu all got a sure enough schoolhouse ?” said 
Dock. 

“Ya-ah, hadn’t you heard? You’d ought to have 
kids — they make life worth livin’.” 

“ , he has! Ain’t yu, Dock?” Reynolds ex- 

claimed, unable to be quiet long. “Didn’t yu alls 
hear about Dock’s signin’ of a paper for a school for 
octoroons down at — at Mo-bill? He made a season 
down there — down there oncet,” he added to the 
crowd between the dodging of Dock’s blows. 

“Go to said Dock, and began to whistle a 

lullaby, but broke off to ask the loan of a pipe of 
tobacco from his tormentor. 

“Sure, yes, take the sack, old feller,” said 
Reynolds. “Smoke up and forget the smell of your 
sin.” 

Plainly Reynolds was bent on putting in a night of 
rare good humor. His attention was drawn now to 
the 'Captives. One began cursing because the rope 
was cutting into his wrist. Reynolds loosened it. 
In his easy conquest he could afford to be humane, 
but not, it seemed, kind. 

“You’re mighty tender, b’ cracky,” he said. 

“It’s because they’re so green,” said Ed, peering 
from behind a neighbor. 

“You shut your rank mouth,” said the prisoner. 

“Well, I like that,” said Ed. “If yu all ain’t green, 
why did you drive them yearlings right along the 
trail, where we could track ’em every foot? Why, a 
nigger thief knows enough to keep on the grass.” 
And Ed received several nods of approval as he 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


31 


glanced importantly around. The thief answered, 
hotly : 

‘'What the did we care about the tracks, or 

you follerin' them? We drove those cattle where it 
was natural and easiest to drive them — where any- 
body would drive cattle. What we wanted was to 
get them yearling back on their right range.’’ 

“Shoo !” Reynolds held a gleam of cunning in his 
eye. “How’d yu say your boss’s herd got scattered ?” 

“Stampeded — ^by lightning.” 

“Lightenin’ scared ’em bad, eh?” 

“Yes; we found some up in Panhandle, some in 
Arkansaw, and the boss heard of these down on the 
Beaver.” 

“Shoo ! — some ’em scar-it clean into Arkansaw ! 
skated across the river, I reckon ?” 

“Never asked them,” said the captive. “We drove 
them around to head waters fetchin’ them back.” 

“Yu two the ones as found ’em all?” 

“No, but we found them. And the boss sent us 
down on the Beaver after them we was drivin’ up.” 

“What did yu say your boss’s name is?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Thought yu said up yonder on the trail that his 
name’s McGee ?” 

“Then it is.” ^ 

“Got a fine, big ranch, has he ?” 

“You betcher-neck ! He handles cattle, he does! 
You fellers down here just run dairy herds.” 

“You’re right, sonny,” said Hawkins, breaking in, 
“but we let the calves do the milkin’.” 

“Guess that’s right, too, if that yonder does it,” 
and the captive looked at Ed. 

This brought a great laugh, and a general refilling 


32 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


of pipes. Ed tried to square himself, but the cap- 
tives, now that the tables were turned, were too 
much for him. He could only add his weak laugh to 
the genuine mirth of the men. And the general ver- 
dict of the crowd was that though the captives had 
proven themselves ‘'mighty pore’’ thieves, they were 
“hell-damned” good liars. 

The company broke up now. Some went to the 
card tables, the remainder separated into groups of 
two or three and talked. Their conversation was no 
secret. I heard much of it. But it did not interest 
me, being, for the most part, a reiteration of what 
had already been told. The prisoners lay prone on 
the floor. Chad I missed from the crowd — minutes 
passed and he did not return. Evidently the coming 
of the cattle was nothing to him. He had said he 
was dead tired. And I thought of the wicked gleam 
that came to his eye at those words of Red’s. 
Did losing sleep in this country reflect upon a man’s 
character ? 

And then — did I or did I not hear the bawl of a 
cow-brute ? Litsening very intently, the sound came 
again, long drawn out this time, as of a critter 
running and bawling as it ran. A hush fell on the 
room ; then, with one accord, we rushed to the door. 
The yearlings were coming up the street. The cow- 
punchers driving them yelled lustily. On they came. 
I could hear the tread of their feet ; I could see the 
yellow-green glare of their wild eyes ; I could smell 
the grassy odor of their breath. But they would 
come no further. The punchers on their flanks and 
rear yelled and cursed, all to no effect. The herd 
was too small to manage well. Twice they broke 
away and dashed back the road they had come ; twice 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


33 


the riders brought them up to a circle of gleaming 
eyes, of tramping hoofs and puffing, grassy breath. 
Darling went out and returned, shaking his head. He 
could not see. A lantern was brought — the fright- 
ened steers dashed away in a panic. Then every 
cowboy that could be mustered went out to help. 
The lantern was hung on a pole outside the door, and 
lamps were placed in the windows. We were all 
ordered inside. Darling placed himself in the door- 
way. And a yelling, such as I had never heard be- 
fore, commenced. Finally, the terrified brutes were 
forced into the illuminated area. There was a 
breathless moment, silent as the firmament above. 
Then Darling called out : 

''These ain’t my cattle ! Not a darned hoof of 
’em’s mine !” 

"Good God!” said Reynolds and Hawkins in a 
breath. It was the sentiment of us all. Then 

"Yu must be off, Joe, — yu said two duns, a roan 
or so, and the rest straight color,” exclaimed Rey- 
nolds. "Yu don’t see I Man alive, yu don’t see 1” 

Morton bolted in between them. His eyes were 
big. He was breathing hard. 

"Darling knows his own cattle, boys. I know his 
herd, too, like a book, fellers. Them yearlings ain’t 
his’n ! Hear me ? Them yearlings ain’t Darling’s.” 

Morton hurried in to the captives and fumbled 
over the ropes that bound them. And then straight- 
ening himself, said in a tone of command : 

"Undo these boys ! Them ain’t Darling’s cattle !” 
And he hurried out again, almost upsetting himself 
in a collision with Darling at the door. 

The cowboys bore him in again with them, still 
talking, still insisting that the captives be unbound. 


34 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


But nobody gave attention to his command — every 
one had words of his own to listen to. But finally, 
when every man had had his say, the captives were 
unbound, and given whiskey. Then Morton took 
them to a place to sleep. 

Their going was the signal for the scattering of 
the crowd. Everyone was anxious to get a snatch 
of sleep before the dawn, which was not far distant. 
The cowboys went to their blankets, the ranchers 
went to such beds as they could find, and I stretched 
myself out again on the hard floor of the saloon, 
and slept. 


CHAPTER II. 

A HORSE TRACK IN THE DUST. 

''Good morning. Jack. How are yu, Ed.’’ 

It was Hawkins that spoke. He had just entered 
the saloon after seeing his erstwhile prisoners off 
with their yearlings. He had paid for their break- 
fast, and had provided each with a pint of whiskey, 
with which to refresh himself during the day. He 
felt that he had done all that could be expected of 
him, and he did not keep that feeling to himself. 
Personally, he thought that Morton should have fur- 
nished the whiskey. But he did not venture to re- 
mind his neighbor of his lapse. It would not have 
been kindly received had he done so ; for it was not 
difficult to see that Hawkins and Morton were 
agreed on but one thing in this world — ^that being 
that Texas is the greatest State in the Union. Prob- 
ably they were agreed on this because both were, 
in several senses, wrong. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


35 


Morton stood with his back against the bar — the 
personification of a great owl at sunrise. He had 
lost sleep, and he had been drinking whiskey. Con- 
sequently, he had a grouch against things in general, 
and Hawkins in particular. 

You're a mighty observing man," he growled, as 
he blinked at his adversary, “mighty observin'." 

“I heard yu say it," Hawkins replied, testily. 

“Well, b' gin," Morton roared back, “a man with 
one eye could have told that them was not Darling's 
cattle. You've seen his herd a hundred times, if you 
have seen it oncet ! — and here you try to put a lot of 
wild giraffes off on to him. Why, Darling, never did 
have such lookin' stuff on his ranch, — never, b' gin ! 
His cattle are stocky beef-stuff, like mine. And you 
didn't know — when you have seen 'em a thousand 
times — a thousand times, b' gin!" 

Hawkins did not reply to this outburst, and Mor- 
ton, after blinking around for a moment, resumed : 

“Now the thieves have escaped again — just as 
they have been doing for three years. If I could 
ride! If I could ride!" 

“Don't you ever ride none?" Ed questioned. 

“Naw," Hawkins sneered. “It jolts his guts." 

“Well, b' gin !" Morton began angrily. But just 
then Darling appeared in the doorway, causing 
fortunate interruption. To Darling all spoke in tones 
subdued and mournful. His disappointment was 
greater than theirs. 

Behind the robber's victim came Red. His hour's 
sleep had refreshed him wonderfully. By his face 
he was ready for the day, and any and all things it 
might bring forth. His cheery, “Mawnin', genl'- 
men," was like a breath from the clean out-of-doors. 


36 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


which was his home. Dock and Hawkins started 
forward with — 

‘'Well, Red, yu was right, after all. Pity we didn’t 
all turn back.” 

So here was Red exalted as hero of the expedition. 
I expected him to expand and pose as one. But he 
modestly sought a retired seat. And his response 
surprised me and surprised the men. 

“Nobody can reckon to tell Darling’s cattle from 
anybody else’s by the tracks they make in the dirt,” 
said he. 

“Shoo now ! Course not,” said Reynolds. And 
the three dethroned heroes looked at Morton and 
Darling, with a “hear-that-now” expression. 

“Well,” said Darling, with some heat, “if Red had 
staid with you, them antelope yearlings never’d have 
been trailed back here. He’d a-knowed I never had 
such stuff in my herd. Never, sir! Never!” 

“The trailin’ of them yearlings down here ain’t 
nothin’,” said Red then. “The lettin’ of the thieves 
escape — that’s what counts.” 

“Just what I was tellin’ ’em! Just what I was 
tellin’ ’em,” Morton put in with an expression of 
great wisdom. 

“Yes, that’s what counts, all right,” said Rey- 
nolds. “But we done our duty as we seen it. We 
thought we was trailin’ ’em, — and, as yu say. Red, 
nobody could tell by the tracks whose cattle they 
was.” 

“There was one thing yu could tell by the tracks, 
though,” said Red. 

Dock took a step forward, eagerness shining in his 
eye. But he said nothing. 

“And that there was,” Red continued, “that who- 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


37 


someever was driving of them was expecting to be 
follered — and wanted to make the job easy/^ 

Reynolds came forward. Dock looked at the 
others, as much as to say, ''I told yu so.’’ Reynolds 
asked : 

''How do yu figure that. Red T' 

"Well, it don’t need much figurinV' said Red, his 
attitude lazy. "But when I see some fello’ puttin’ 
himself out to make a job easy for me, I don’t take 
the job. When them fellers began makin’ the trail 
easy to foller, the answer was plain enough — ^them 
wasn’t the cattle we wanted. The cattle we wanted 
had been switched ofif and gone some other way.” 

"Well, b’ gin !” said Morton, with all the scandal- 
ized expression of a fat gobbler that sees a red rag. 
"B’ gin ! b’ gin !” 

"Then yu say them yearlings we got hold of was 
drove down this way — was put on the trail for a 
blind?” 

"A blind? Yes, seh. They was driven down to 
these parts for that identical purpose, seh.” 

Hawkins leaped for his hat. "We all ought to 
have held them fellers,” he cried. "We can git ’em 
yet ! Ed, yu ” 

"Oh, ease your mind, Hawkins,” said Dock. "They 
didn’t have our cattle. They’d never seen ’em. We 
can’t do a thing with them.” 

"Damn ’em, we can make them tell who has got 
our cattle. I say ” 

"It’s my opinion,” came Red’s quiet voice in in- 
terruption, "it’s my opinion that them two are just 
a couple of punchers, and their business goes no 
further than to do as they’re told and spend their 
wages.” 


38 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


''Yes/’ said Dock, "Red’s got the calibre of them 
fellers all right.” And Reynolds agreed with him. 

"Maybe I have, and maybe I haven’t,” said Red. 
"But when we struck Whiskey Creek, and found the 
trail, as plain, through all that brush and bluestem, 
where it would have been easier than not to have 
doubled and cross trailed, — as plain, I say, through 
all that, as the nose on a man’s face ” 

"Hold on now, will you, sir,” said Darling, hope 
reviving in the patch of face above the sandy beard. 
"Hold right quiet, sir, till I catch up with you. I’ve 
never been able to get hair or head of this thing 
yet. These fellers was too happy to talk last night, 
and this morning they’re too sore. Act like they 
was mad because I wouldn’t lay claim to them wild 
giraffes — they do.” 

"It wa’n’t right neighborly in you to disown ’em,” 
said Ed. "By gimminy snakes, it wa’n’t.” 

Darling gave no attention to Ed’s words. In the 
interval of silence Morton stared around, the scan- 
dalized expression still lurking in his great owlish 
eyes. Red changed his seat from an empty box to 
a full keg. All watched his movements, and waited 
his pleasure to resume. While they waited, Ed spoke 
again. 

"Be careful there. Red. You might ’sorb some of 
that liquor through the wood.” And he snorted out, 
laughing. It is a sure mark of a fool that when he 
says one foolish thing he will follow it with another. 
But Red, like Darling, ignored his words. 

"Well,” said Red, when he was fully ready, "yu 
know that we tracked ’em easy to the Rivah, for they 
had gone on the run and had cut up sod. And we 
found where they’d gone in and come out, easy 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


39 


enough. Then, when we left the bottoms, for about 
ten miles up the raise, we had to keep close to the 
ground all the time. Around Rabbit Creek we 
needed a dog bad, — they had us skunked a score of 
times. We didn’t make a mile an hour until we got 

out of the high grass. Then ” 

‘'Don’t you mind. Red, when I found the trail by 
that slip of dung?” Ed asked. “If it hadn’t of 

been for me that time, we’d have lost ” 

“Oh, shut up, Ed,” said Dock. “You did good 
work, but ” 

“You bet I did ! And that other time when ” 

“Shut up !” roared Morton. 

“Then across the flats we had it pretty easy. They 
had doubled back a few times, but the ground was 
loose and sandy, and the trail was too easy to miss, 
till we struck timbah at the Beavah. There we 
chopped around some, but soon found a trail that 
led due west to the old Wichita trail. That trail, 
seh, crossed the Branch at the old Indian Ford, and 
followed the Wichita as close as a dog. Right 
then was when I made up my mind we was off. 
Right there was where these yearlings, as was in 
here last night, was waitin’. Right there was where 
we all left the true trail and followed the false — 
just as them robbers expected us to f oiler it.” 

“Well, b’ gin!” Morton swelled up to laugh, 
“Ha-a-a-haw ! Pretty good. Red ! Pretty good 1” 
But Darling was shouting: “Why didn’t you tell 
’em. Red? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell ’em?” 

“He did,” said Dock. “Lord, man, he told us ! 
But we wouldn’t listen. We had the trail right at 
our feet. We couldn’t see nothin’ nor think nothin’ 
but them tracks 1 We never thought of a blind — I 
didn’t ” 


40 


THE UPPER TR/ML 


“I didn’t think of it’s bein’ all for a blind, either, 
— not at that time, I didn’t,” said Red. 

‘^But yu was mighty dead the rest of the day, I 
remember,” said Reynolds. 

‘‘Yu was hot, wa’n’t you. Red?” Ed asked. 

“No,” said Red quick at this. “No, but yu all 
took what I said as so on-reasonable, that I knowed 
it was no use tryin’ to convince yu. And aftah the 
Injun Ford I knowed it was no use goin’ on. So I 
left yu all. When I got back to the Beavah, I 
poked around until I found where the true trail led 
east and crossed ” 

“Yu did? Where?” they cried in chorus. While 
Morton haw-hawed away shaking his great paunch, 
while he declared that Red was the smoothest liar 
in Texas — “smoothest in the hull State, b’ 
gin!” But Red, after an inquiring glance at the 
Major, continued: 

“Yaah, I found where they’d crossed, and I fol- 
lered them up to the Little Beavah meadows — Say, 
there is grass for yu ! Bluestem to sweep a haws’s 
belly.” 

“I’d think you could have follered them easy 
through high grass — there ain’t been no rain nor 
wind,” said Darling, and Reynolds, nodded approval 
of the words. 

“Couldn’t though,” said Red, and stopped. 

Dock laughed. “Come, Red,” he said genially, 
“yu can’t play off on us again. Spit it out, boy. 
Was there other cattle there?” 

Red moved uneasily. “No,” he said. “Injuns, — 
the place was swarmin’ with Chickasaws.” 

“Shoo!” said Reynolds explosively. “And the 
damned redskins had just wallered in the grass?” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


41 


Red nodded seriously. Dock and Darling ob- 
served him narrowly, while Hawkins and Morton 
indulged in big talk about Indians. 

''I’d rather try to get information from a herd 
of buffalo,” said Hawkins finally, "because they 
can’t tell yu nothin’ and yu know they can’t. But 
the infernal Injuns will gabble and point, and make 
a man think they’re human, until he hopes to get 
something out of them. But he won’t ever, — he’ll 
only lose time.” 

And then Morton laid his "Haw-a-a-haw” like 
a heavy weight on whatever hope Red’s story had 
inspired. He was much pleased. The Indians had 
blotted out the trail, and he haw-hawed some more, 
making preparations to depart, as were the others 
— all save Dock. As Morton toddled out past Red, 
he laughed again. "Ha-a-a-haw ! A mighty clever 
lie, boy ! — and a fine endin’, b’ gin ! We’ll all git for 
home now.” 

They went out with Morton, leaving the saloon to 
me. The corral, where they went for their horses, 
was not far, and I could hear their voices, often 
their words, as I stood alone in the doorway. I 
saw Morton drive away in a buckboard. And heard 
a voice call after him: 

"I’ll repawt for work in the mawning’, seh.” 

That was Red’s voice. So he was employed by 
Morton. After the Major, a horsebackman dashed 
at full gallop. I heard voices bidding the rider "So- 
long.” That was Hawkins, and I recalled that he, 
too, lived near the Belknap schoolhouse. Ed 
went toward his mother’s house. Then Dock and 
Reynolds and Red came toward the saloon, leading 
their horses. I looked at Red’s horse — a dun-roan, 


42 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


low, slim of legs and rich in main and tail. Evi- 
dently he was bred on the free hills, and had 
known but one man, and that man was his master. 
But there was something majestic in his subjection. 
Dock was talking: 

‘‘And Em riding out to look at them this 
morning.’’ 

Red spoke to me. ‘‘Yu’ll find your hawss yondah 
in the corral, seh.” 

I thanked him, and had the temerity to add: ‘‘I 
hope we will meet again.” 

They asked me about myself. Their questions 
showed their absolute lack of interest ; but the man 
of the South is always polite. I answered their 
questions, fabricating where the truth could not be 
told. Yes, I was going to stay in Texas. No, but I 
wanted a job. And they told me solemnly that town 
offered nothing in that line — there was nothing for 
a man to do in daytime there, but to pick his teeth ; 
at night he might pick up something at cards. I 
had better look around the ranches — no killing time 
on them. But they, individually, had been killing a 
lot of time lately — they must be about their busi- 
ness now. 

This brought the conversation back to the cattle 
stealing, and, at a favorable opening, I made bold to 
ask, ‘'Has Morton had any cattle stolen — lately?” 

“No,” they said, “not lately.” And they looked at 
each other. Then Reynolds added: “Not ever, as I 
have heard of. Never did lose any, did he?” 

They agreed solemnly that he never had. 

I glanced away. But I knew that Red was look- 
ing at me; that he was inspecting me again, as he 
had done in that first hour in the saloon. I could 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


43 


feel again the prickling sensation of the flesh, as his 
piercing gaze traveled over me. Then, drawn by a 
force I could not resist, I turned my head. Our 
eyes met. His were gray, and their piercing sharp- 
ness did not vanish at once. I felt an awkwardness, 
and to relieve it, said : 

‘'Are there many Indians about here?’’ 

“Some,” Red replied. “Them I spoke of was in 
the Territory.” 

And I answered : “Oh, yes,” and felt foolish until 
Reynolds spoke. 

“I thought yu could talk Injun, Red?” he said. 

“Can — some,” said Red, and swung forward. His 
natural walk was a kind of swinging glide, such as 
actors effect on the stage; but with this young 
Apollo, it was but the playing of muscles under no 
development or training except natural grace. I 
gazed after him in admiration until he seated him- 
self on the doorstep. 

Dock, too, looked after him. “But you don’t 
know no Chickasaw,” he said, and made the saying 
a question. 

“Picked up a little — ’tain’t so different from 
Pawnee.” 

I said, “I suppose not.” Then saw Dock dart at 
Red, with a laugh and knock the young man’s hat 
off. 

“Blast you. Red,” he said heartily, “that wasn’t 
no lie you was tellin’ in here.” 

“I don’t reckon it was, seh,” said Red, stretching 
his length after his hat. I noticed that he smoothed 
his red hair carefully before he replaced the hat. 

“So yu talked some with them Injuns yu seen?” 

“Didn’t reckon I run from ’em, did yu ?” 


44 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘'No, you deep-constituted son-of-a-gun, I 
didn't,” said Dock affectionately. And he seated 
himself beside Red on the step, his friendly face a 
study in anticipation. After a glance or two into 
the young man’s sober face, he put his question : 

“Well, what did they say. Red? Had they seen 
the yearlings?” 

Red shook his head. “No, seh, they hadn’t seen 
’em, seh.” 

“Lyin’ devils !” exclaimed Reynolds, and moved 
over on an empty keg he had rolled forward, to 
make room beside him for Darling, who had come 
across from the store. 

Dock’s expression changed to anxiety as he 
studied Red’s face. “Hadn’t they seen ’em, true?” 
he asked, pleadingly. 

Red again shook his head, but a peculiar smile 
played about his lips which seemed to puzzle the 
genial bachelor. 

Darling, who had heard just enough to recall the 
whole thing, sighed audibly, and bowed his head 
upon his hands. His wife was recovering, but his 
yearlings were irretrievably lost — he forgot the 
blessing in the misfortune. 

“It’s funny if them Injuns hadn’t seen ’em,” said 
Reynolds, speaking after a sympathetic glance at 
Darling. 

“Not at all, seh,” said Red, as if in defense of the 
Indians. “They had just come down, seh.” 

“Oh, they had just come down !” exclaimed Dock. 
“What had they come down for?” 

That seemed a very foolish question to ask, and 
I could see that Dock expected either a sneer or a 
laugh from Reynolds, and he got the sneer. But 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


45 


when he saw that peculiar smile come back to Red’s 
face he followed up the idea, asking again : 

''What did they come down for ,Red ? Who sent 
’em down?” 

"That is just what I would like to know myself, 
seh.” 

"But somebody sent ’em,” cried Dock, in a tone 
that raised Darling’s head. "Yu know that some- 
body sent ’em.” 

"Well, maybe not sent 'em, but told ’em that that 
particular meadow was alive with chickens.” 

"And was it?” cried Dock. 

"I didn’t ride on to so much as one old hen.” 

Dock’s gaze rested on Reynolds and Darling, 
with all the joy of one who has found what he was 
looking for. 

"And the feller that told them about the 
chickens,” he asked joyfully. "What did they say 
he looked like?” 

'T didn’t get much about ins looks,” said Red. 

"What did you get then?” 

"Nothin’, seh. Nothin’ of consequence.” 

"You deep-runnin’ son-of-a-gun !” cried Dock in a 
tone of exasperation, while laughter spread in 
ripples over his face. "I know what you want to 
do. You want to salt this here down — hide it away 
in that head of yours, where you have got all sorts 
of id-ees salted away right now. I know your 
game ! But you can’t work it this time — we’ve got 
you this time'” 

Red grinned and dodged a hand which Dock 
thrust out to knock his hat. Reynolds rose up from 
his keg, very serious of countenance. 

"This here is a matter of pub-lick importance,” 


46 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


said he; ‘^and if yu know anything that might lead 
to the capture of them thieves, it’s your dooty — 
your dooty to ” 

‘'I understand all about that, seh,” said Red, ‘‘and 
if I had anything that was the least bit certain. I’d 
throw my job at Morton’s and f oiler it up. But I’m 
just like I was that time at the Beavah — I’ve a sight 
of thoughts and idees, but nothin’ positive enough 
to inconvenience anybody ovah.” 

“Tell ’em ! Tell ’em !” commanded Reynolds, “and 
let us judge what they’re worth.” 

“Well,” said Red with a frown of reluctancy, “it’s 
nothin’, as I said. But them Injuns — them Chick- 
asaws I met, they made it known to me that their 
man rode a hawss that left a track in the dust so.” 
And he outlined in the air a hoof with a chip off 
one side. “This on the left hoof, hind. So I goes 
on back up country, till I found the trail of such a 
hawss. I follered that track up around Signal Mt., 
back down Wichita Trail to ” 

“He was coming this way. Red? — this way?” 
Reynolds was fairly champing with excitement. 

“Yes, seh, this way. I follered him to the rivah — 
I couldn’t find no tracks this side.” 

“Thunder! Well, who in .” And like ex- 

clamations burst from the men. Then they looked 
at me. 

The meaning of that look was not far to seek. 
Twice since crossing the bounds of the State, I felt 
myself in danger of being hanged — that was going 
some ! But though the real danger was greater this 
morning than it had been last night, I was less fear- 
ful. Any condemnation must come from Red, and 
I knew already that he would not lie. He spoke 
now, answering their unvoiced accusation. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


47 


''This gent’lman ain't the man, nor his hawss ain't 
the hawss, — I examined both of them last night. 
There ain't no split off his hawss' hoof, left hind or 
front. There ain't no trail dust on this here man, 
none in his hair or on his hat ; there ain't none in his 
saddle-blanket — there wasn't any last night." 

And I had thought he was looking after my horse 
in recompense for his fun with me. I laughed. "You 
have a right searching way with you," I said in 
admiration. 

"I hev," he replied. "Sometimes it pays to be 
thorough — pays both parties." 

"It does, indeed !" I responded. "And I thank 
you again for looking after my horse." 

He smiled up at me as he waved a hand in depreci- 
ation of his services. His smile held more of friend- 
ship than any I had had for many lonely hours. I 
said : 

"I shall come to believe that you down here have 
powers beyond us Northerners. Your friend Sleepy 
did some mind reading for me last night." 

Red narrowed his lids in exact imitation of his 
friend. "Sleepy," he said, in a comical drawl, "sees 
a sight of things in the dawk that are not there in 
the mawnin'." 

"That sort of seeing don't amount to much," I 
replied, and hoped that the conversation might be 
prolonged. 

But the others were excitedly discussing the 
tracks. They appealed to Red now, asking how far 
up and down the river bed he had searched, and 
when. And he answered them. 

"Not fah, — it come dusk soon, and there was 
dangah of blottin' out just what I wanted left plain, 


48 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


SO I come on to town. Then yu all came in with 
your prisoners, and ’’ 

‘'Go back and look in good light,” cried Darling, 
all in a fluster. “Go and search the ground good! 
Search it thorough !” 

“I ’lowed to spend to-day lookin’ around,” said 
Red, calmly. 

“To-day? Nothin’!” Reynolds broke forth. “Yu 
want a week ! — two weeks !” 

“Well, seh,” said Red, pushing his hat back from 
his red foretop, “as I said a while back. I’d like to 
run this thing down first-class. But Mistah Morton 
has let me off for this hunt I’ve been on — and with 
the beef round-up right onto him ” 

Red paused. The men looked at each other. Rey- 
nolds spoke. 

“In an important matter like this. I’d take it that 
Morton ought to let yu off,” said he. 

“Will yu undertake to convince the Major of his 
dooty, Reynolds?” Dock asked. 

Reynolds cursed. 

“He’s dependin’ on me,” said Red. “I reckon my 
time’s his’n aftah to-day.” 

“He can easy pick up a puncher in your place,” 
said Reynolds. 

“You might hire a substitute,” said Dock. 

And Darling grasped the idea. He said : 

“You go after them thieves. Red, and I’ll send one 
of my boys to help Morton till you get back. What 
do you say?” 

“If yu will. I’ll take it kind of yu, seh.” 

“Then yu’ll do it?” they chorused. 

“Sure enough.” 

They crowded around him, offering suggestions 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


49 


and giving advice. He stood by his horse, listening, 
and, I surmised, discarding it all. 

''No word of this, fellers,’’ he said, as he got into 
his saddle. 

They touched their hats, and looked at me. 

"I’m mum,” I said. And added, "But Morton 
will have his suspicions aroused when the new man 
comes.” 

"Morton’s suspicions don’t amount to shucks,” 
Reynolds declared. "He’s with us, anyway.” 

But Darling declared he would "post” his man. 
The rest of us were cautioned to "know nothing.” 

That was quite my proper role. And thus I parted 
with the cowboy, Red. And watched him disappear 
in a cloud of dust that moved toward the north. 

CHAPTER III. 

DEEP INTO TEXAS 

Red River Station had its existence in that time 
— 1870 — when Texas, in common with the entire 
West, was making history by leaps and bounds; 
when a wilderness became a field, and the field a 
wilderness; when houses sprang up as from the 
earth and crumbled to dust ; when a town, filled 
with a busy throng, was and was not, and all in the 
memory of a man whose hair was unstreaked with 
gray. Texas was my first step into the land of the 
ephemeral ; Red River Station was my first of these 
diurnal towns. Perhaps, had I have known that its 
stay was to be brief, I had looked upon it with more 
of pity and less of disgust that morning as I stood 
in front of the Greyhound Saloon. My companions 


50 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


of the night had gone. Dawn had scattered the cow- 
boys, and life had gone out of the place they left. 
More forlorn it was than a last year’s bird nest; 
more silent than a house when all save you are away 
from home. I took in its dimensions without stirring 
from my tracks — thirteen buildings and a corral for 
bronchos. My spirits sank. How was I ever to ac- 
complish anything in a place like this ? I was sixty 
miles from any railroad, with Indian Territory and 
Indians to the north and cattle to the west and south. 
I had not expected much but the little I had ex- 
pected was not here — only a jumble of houses, set at 
all angles and any pitch, as if dropped there by a 
cyclone. And all were of the same box-like pattern, 
low, unpainted, forlorn; inhabited or not, I knew 
only by the smoke from an occasional chimney. 
Each householder claimed but the ground sheltered 
by the roof of his house — the rest was a weed-patch, 
a refuse dump, a path, a trail. And these paths and 
trails, I now discovered, led, as do the spokes of 
a wheel to its hub, to the spot where I stood — the 
saloon ! It was the business block, the centre, the 
Station. About it were gathered the other business 
buildings — the store, the feed-stable, offering, beside 
the usual provender, meal and molasses ; an eating 
house and a bunk-house. Someone most certainly, 
owned and operated these, but this was not their 
busy day. Looking in at the store, I saw only an 
old cat and her kittens; the eating house man had 
left his skillet and griddle, and the odor of scorching 
steak and burning fat had blown far away ; no one 
hung about the bunk-house; my horse was alone 
in the corral, as I was alone in the street. And 
this on Monday morning at eight o’clock ! 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


51 


And yet, for all its stillness and deadness, Red 
River Station did not offer the one thing I sought — 
seclusion. My acts here, in this forlorn husk of 
civilization, would attract more attention than if 
performed on the steps of a Fifth avenue hotel. All 
this, because in a large place, people do not care 
enough about your business to listen while you tell 
it ; in a small place everyone must know all about 
your affairs, whether you will tell it or not. And 
here at this Station the people of the country came 
in and went out; here they made their news, and 
from this point they diffused it. I had witnessed 
them at the task, and the paths and trails bore wit- 
ness that such gatherings were not infrequent. 
Therefore, the sure way for me to get before the eye 
of the Red River public was to remain at the Sta- 
tion, doing and saying nothing. But the nature of 
my work demanded that I attract as little attention 
as possible — that I lose myself for a time, in the 
people; that I learn their present and their past; 
their deeds and their misdeeds. I had hoped to do 
this by securing employment in town. But Dock 
was right, — there was nothing to do in town but pick 
your teeth. Mine were sufficiently picked — the last 
particle of tough steak was extracted from my 
molars. True enough, the town offered nothing 
more. 

From the desolation of the street I now departed, 
following one of the trails. I passed houses as I 
walked, so near that I almost brushed their corners, 
and their blank, uncurtained windows stared at me 
bleak and blear. And then, all at once, I was in the 
open plain. It began at the very door of the last 
house, and stretched away into the Infinite — a sea 


52 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


of dull gray and duller yellow, seamed with darker 
lines, lit with flecks of white, rolling, swelling, ever 
receding, fading in the distance, mingling unstably 
with the air at last, sparkling, quivering, straining 
the eyes, until lost in the blue curtain that fell un- 
evenly across its breast. Into that distance went 
wondering my trail, like a slack string on a table. I 
did not follow it far. I walked slantwise up a ridge 
and took a look around. I saw nothing new. That 
is one thing about a prairie — you get a change of 
scenery, but never a variety. I have heard people 
traveling on trains ask, after sleep, why they had 
been side-tracked. I walked on. The sun, so power- 
ful, so bright, so near, beat down on the land it 
had desolated; the sage-grass, curled to the hard 
ground, crunched under foot like excelsior on a 
floor ; a white dust covered my boots and rose, with 
the heat, to my nostrils ; the bear-grass, standing in 
clumps here and there, was shriveled and curled ; 
and the cactus were withered, and shrunken, and 
whitish with dust ; where had been a creek was now 
a gorge of baked clay; now and then deep fissures 
in the ground dumbly voiced its thirst; and above 
this scorched plain rose a canopy of feathery, white 
clouds, magnificent, matchless, — fairy ships of the 
sky, that passed, one by one, followed by their earth- 
bound shadows. 

I followed along the ridge in idle aimlessness, 
sometimes stopping to examine a lone cactus tree 
and to speculate upon how it subsisted in the rock- 
like soil, or to try a broom-weed, or to poke my 
head in among the green, lace-like foliage of a scrub 
mesquite, in search of its pods, which I tasted and 
rejected, tasted again and rejected; tasted a third 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


53 


time and pronounced good, and so they have satis- 
fied my hunger many a time since. 

The ridge flattened gradually, imperceptibly, until 
I found myself finally at the ragged edge of the 
prairie. Like a frayed sheet, it lay, split and cut 
by foot-deep brick-red gullies, which mingled and 
widened until lost in an expanse of salmon-colored 
sand. Out of this sand struggled up an irregular 
line of willows and scrub cottonwoods, clinging two 
or three to a root, all bent and burdened by heaps 
of drift from the Spring flood. These stunted, flood- 
scarred trees marked the last hold of soil. Beyond 
there was no tuft of grass, no water-plant, or lily, 
or moss — just sand, salmon-red sand, and then the 
water of the Red River, more sand and more water, 
and then the dim shore of the Territory. 

I followed the river’s course for some distance, 
seeing no change in the monotony of red sand, until 
finally the river widened. A stream flowed into it 
from the south, barring my way, while opposite its 
mouth lay an irregular line of dull green — an island. 
It lay, wrapped in the blue haze of distance, serene 
and beautiful. I experienced a childlike desire to 
go across to it. The day was already hot. I was 
wet with perspiration — a dip in that lazy current 
winding its way over a bed of sand could be nothing 
but luxury. But, after a few steps taken in the 
sand that lay between me and my bath, I turned 
back discouraged. Had I gone on, this story would 
have a different beginning or — none at all. 

When I came up from the river bed, I found my- 
self north and east of the Station — I had all but 
skirted it. But I did not continue the circuit. I 
sought the shade of a cottonwood and stretched out 


54 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


on the sand. Pale hills were in the distance, at their 
base an arm of the sky reached down, cutting them 
off, as the sea sweeps round a peninsula. I had all 
the feeling of a child rocked in its mother’s arms ; 
the sand was of comfortable coolness ; a soft breeze 
fanned my hot brow; a cricket sang in the pile of 
drift beside my tree. Chap, with his dark scowl ; 
Sleepy, with his droll speech ; Red, with his voice of 
melted music and wealth of reluctant plans; Mor- 
ton, the posse, and their aborted triumph, — all these 
passed through my mind as I lay in the calm of the 
great out-of-doors. Before I knew it I had slept, 
and awoke, and hunger was reminding me of noon. 

I walked back to town. No one had come in while 
I had been out. The saloon was empty; the negro 
again slept, as he had the night before when I looked 
my first upon him. At the eating-house a thin 
column of smoke arose, straight as a whip — the 
sight of it somehow squelched my hunger. And 
then the friendly Dock — he of the donation to the 
Mobile school — overtook and greeted me. 

‘‘Lookin’ around ?” he asked, his eyes putting the 
question the same time as his lips. 

“Yes, looking around,” I replied. “Not much to 
see, though.” 

“Not much here — ^but south! There is where 
you’ll find scenery, natural parks, lakes, cotton fields 
— ever seen any? And then West — the mesquite 
woods — only scrubs around here — and the Staked 
Plain — Llano Estacado, if you savvy Spanish — 
cactus grow there in rows like fence posts. There 
is where you’ll find cattle ! — all the big ranches are 
there.” He paused to look me over. We were 
taking steps toward the eating-house. “Ever been 
on a ranch ?” he asked. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


55 


I told him no. 

'‘Just the place for a young man/’ he said, with 
all the confidence of a college professor discussing 
electrical engineering. "It gives brawn and muscle, 
strength and endurance, — something to back up the 
ideas you got in your head. See?” 

I did see. And I saw, too, that he had looked 
through my clothing and found that I had no more 
muscle than a week-old pigeon, — for the first time 
in my life I was ashamed of my own body. And 
then it seemed that the problem of the morning had 
solved itself. I would take a job on some ranch. I 
said : 

"I quite agree with you, and I hope that Texas 
will prove the right place for me. Do you happen 
to know of a ranch needing a hand ?’ ’ 

He looked me over again. In his hesitation I 
wondered if he would not even some old score by 
sending me to his worst enemy. But his words were 
free from guile. 

"Why, now I — why, man, why don’t you try that 
ranch job with the Newcomers?” 

"Oh,” I replied blankly. I had never heard of 
the Newcomers, — that seemed reason enough why I 
had not taken the job. But I asked, "Who shall I 
see?” 

"Morton. Yes, see Morton; he brought news in 
He’s gone home, but it won’t take you long to jog 
out there. Take the Upper Trail and foller your 
nose.” 

In less than an hour I was doing as he told me — 
riding out on the Upper Trail. It was nothing more 
or less than the path I had set out on earlier in the 
day, and it led, as certainly as does time itself, to the 


56 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


din shores of eternity. And that shore ever lifted as 
I pursued it, but the trail led on and on. It was 
well that I had not sought its terminus on foot, for, 
as miles lay behind me, and miles stretched before 
me, I almost came to regard my ride as a rainbow 
chase — its end always just beyond. Looking back 
the way I had come I saw the Station, a mere dot in 
the distance ; looking ahead, the earth rose and fell 
in ceaseless swells, like a congealed sea. And over 
its bosom capered a breeze, making no sound as it 
came fresh from the fans of heaven and laden with 
the very essence of life. About an hour before sun- 
down, a building came in view, set atop a hill. 
Between me and it a stream ran, with willows, cattle 
rubbed and shiny, along its narrow bed. When I 
came up from the stream, I saw other buildings, on 
a barren slope, and clinging to it at all angles, as if 
fearful of tobogganing into the water. In all this 
level country why should a man build a home on a 
slope, I wondered. And as I drew nearer, I mar- 
veled that a man should patch instead of erecting 
his buildnigs. 

Morton met me in the barnyard. Indeed, it 
seemed all barnyard — all sheds, and corrals, with 
mound after mound of ''chips’’ piled up between. I 
saw scampering chickens, and scampering children, 
with a frightened yellow pup at their heels. They 
went in somewhere, but there seemed to be no house 
— no building fit for human habitation. The "crack 
musician of the convent” had her human calendar 
all right, but her piano ? 

Morton met me as I said, in the yard. My errand 
pleased him. He made himself very friendly and 
very officious, even telling me the hour I should rise 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


57 


and retire, the while, rolling his owl-like eyes and 
shaking his heavy paunch with laughing. He asked 
me to spend the night with him, and when I would 
not, he wrote a letter to the Newcomers, whose name 
it seemed, was not Newcomers at all, but Halloway, 
at once introducing me and stating my desire. He 
read it to me, and then explained its contents min- 
utely. I received it with varied emotions and turned 
my horse around. But he called out excitedly, 
‘‘Here ! Here !’’ And when he reached my side, said, 
as if imparting a secret of state, “You tell Mr. 
Halloway that Morton sent you over. Say this: 
‘Morton knowed you’d be needin’ help.’ ” 

I agreed smilingly, but with some mental reserva- 
tion as to grammar. And just then a girl appeared 
— a girl slim and long, and as bare of legs as a 
Spring chicken. She came out from a shed, and at 
sight of me, seemed undecided whether to bolt or 
advance. She attempted the latter, and, after a few 
efforts, found voice sufficient to ask if they might 
have ham for supper. 

Morton stormed an answer. “No!” he shouted. 
And again, “No! What is your mother thinking 
of?” 

The girl retreated like a scolded canine. I was 
glad I had refused the invitation to remain over 
night. They must be very poor. Such was my 
thought as I thanked Morton a second time and 
started my horse. 

But again he stopped me. “You know how to go, 
now? — just foller the trail down the Creek — the 
builders made it cornin’ and goin’ to the schoolhouse. 
You’ll have to cross the creek after a bit, but the 
ford is good — it’s the Little Wichita — runs the year 


58 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


around and there ain’t no treachery about it — ^there 
ain’t another river around here that can beat it. Why, 
the Red gets so low this time of year that cattle can’t 
get to water for the sand ! — that’s right ! 

But the Little Wichita ” He took a wide turn, 

flinging out an arm — ‘'the Wichita runs the whole 
length of my holdings — I can water my stock every 
day in the year out of that creek. And I’ve got good 
stock, too, — Red will tell you that — he works for me 
— a mighty good cow-puncher, too; no foolishness 
in workin’ hours, about him. Blast his hide, I like 
him. You’re a friend of his’n? That’s right! I 
like to see a young man strike out for himself. I 
did. And b’ gin, if one of my boys is hangin’ around 
the home roost at eighteen, I’ll flog him 1 — ^no idlers 
around Morton! The neighbors will tell you the 
same. But Levering, below here — You know him? 
No? Well, you’ll see his place if you keep an eye 
peeled to the west, just as you turn down to the 
river. Leverin’s got a good place — a fine place! — 
I ought to have had it! — I’ll get it, too, some day, 
mark me now ! Levering ain’t no rustler !” Morton 
said this in a half whisper, and added : “He lives too 
well ! — that’s it ! Eats everything up, b’ gin ! You’ll 
say so, too, if you go there. Sunday dinner every 
day, and Christmas dinner every Sunday — that’s the 
way they live — it’s an outrage. And Levering can’t 
keep up long under such extravagance — there ain’t 
no income from what you put into your stummick — 
remember that, young man! At Levering’s it’s 
waste, waste — wimmen folks throwin’ money into 
the slop bucket — niggers eatin’ ofif’n him — that’s it ! 
He’ll go down. Well, then, there’s Reynolds, — he 
lives doo south of the place Halloway’s got — doo 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


59 


south, and he’s got a fine place. Halloway lives 
west of the schoolhouse — it’s on the Boggy — a 
Spring stream, it is, and flows into the Wichita; 
you’ll have to cross it, but the trail is plain — you 
can’t miss it, for it’s plain. His girl is goin’ to teach 
the school, a fine girl, what I’ve seen of her, fine! 
She’ll do right by the school — I’m bettin’ on her. It 
takes money, but children have got to have eddica- 
tion — ^mine have. History, I want ’em to know — 
the fightin’ that was done right here in Texas. I 
had cousins in that war — two of ’em, and both of 
them Mortons, and not a cowardly hair in their 
heads. I’ve got an interest in this State, purchased 
by family blood ! That’s the kind of a Texan I am ! 
I tell Hawkins — you saw Hawkins in town ? There’s 
the biggest fool atop the grass ! — I’d say it to him as 
soon as I would to you. But he gets along, blast 
me, he does. I don’t see how he does it, either. I 
wouldn’t wonder — well, Hawkins lives east of me — 
he and Darling is neighbors. And I’ve nothing to 
say agin Darling, either — he’s slow, and he prays 
over his grub, but every man has his peculiarities.” 

''But Reynolds is a rustler. Don’t you go to gettin’ 
no job with Jack, — take old Morton’s pointer on 
that! He works his men to death and takes their 
wages right out of their pockets — God’s truth! — he 
does that as sure as I am a livin’ man ! He has ’em 
bettin’ who can do the most work, who can brand 
the most calves, who can set in the saddle longest, 
who can go the longests without grub — and they 
work like slaves all day! And then, of nights and 
Sundays, he sets and plays cards with ’em, and wins 
back all he’s paid to ’em ! — that’s Reynolds — and he’s 
gettin’ rich. Oh, he’s a devil ! Him and me had a 


60 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


fight oncet, — You heard about it? He’s the only 
man in these parts as can say he whipped Morton, — 
of course, I don’t fight none now.” He laughed, 
shaking his great hams, even, over the memory of 
that fight. Then he added, ''Well, you better be 
gettin’ on.” 

I agreed with him. I had been waiting to go the 
half hour, but he gave me no chance. But I had 
enjoyed the talk; Morton’s egotism was so un- 
thoughted as to be almost humor. But it would tire 
soon, and I was anxious to get on my way to Hallo- 
way’s. I had no idea how far it was. Dock had 
spoken, offhand, of jogging out to Morton’s, and it 
took me all afternoon to ride there, so I did not 
conjecture what time I would reach Halloway’s. 
My getting a job when I got there was problematic 
also. But I had a vague hope now, founded upon 
the unreliable basis of having known some people by 
the same name who were kind to me as a boy. I 
recalled them as I rode — the sweet, friendly lady, 
and a little girl with eyes like a saucy bird. They 
were from Gawgia — ^yes, that was the way the lady 
spoke it, "Gawgia,” but it was music on her lips, and 
she loved it so dearly ! I remembered how she talked 
to me and soothed my boyish hurts, effecting cures 
without the need of candy and cakes, though she 
gave them as an afterthought. I told my mother 
that I had rather listen to Mrs. Halloway talk than 
to her sing. It was a foolish speech, and betrayed 
alike my ungallant and untutored mind. Mothers 
are as jealous as sweethearts, and mine never after- 
ward regarded by sweet-voiced lady kindly. Mother 
called the little girl Black-Eyed-Susan, but that was 
not her name — it evaded me, for it was unusual. I 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


61 


searched the remote prairie for it, but it was not 
written there, and so I crossed the Wichita without 
keeping my eye ^'peeled to the west,” and did not 
catch the promised glimpse of Levering’ s, where 
was a Sunday dinner every day — peace to my 
appetite ! 

After the ford I was again riding my prairie sea. 
The sun set ahead of me like scniething rolling 
slowly from the far side of a table; the sky, which 
had paled, began now to deepen and darken; the 
horizon drew nearer and nearer; and then it was 
night, and darkness and silence ruled the universe. 
Yet it was not an intense darkness; the stars shone 
brightly, but high and far ; my eyes seemed to pierce 
the gloom to considerable distance, but I saw 
nothing, for there was nothing to see. The prairie, 
now a circle of gray, fell behind me, always level, 
always unmarked by river, or hill, or tree, or build- 
ing, until I came to liken myself to a beetle on a 
revolving cylinder, which, traveling always with 
might and main, succeeds only in keeping on top. 
Now that the sun had set, I had no idea of direction, 
and I trusted wholly to my horse to keep the trail. 
He did not. I will not give you a full account of my 
wanderings alone upon that great prairie that night, 
only this : 

After hours of what appeared to be useless can- 
tering, I slowed my horse to a walk, and began to 
debate the advisahlity of trying for sleep on the 
prairie. I knew it was the proper thing to do, but 
still I procrastinated, and rode on and on. If any 
man ever did a more foolish thing I should like to 
hear his tale. I recalled a familiar story of a small 
boy, who visited at the old home after a year in a 


62 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


city flat. When taken upstairs to bed, he cried and 
cried, and his mother, after hours of patient 
lullabies, returned to the drawing room to say that 
he thought the room ''too big,’' and would not sleep. 
I was that boy, and in this night on the prairie, the 
child I had been woke up in me, and stared with 
sleepless eyes at this other room, which he found too 
big to sleep in. 

When dawn came I suspected, and rightly, that I 
was too far south. The sun, as is its wont under 
such circumstances, rose in a totally absurd point of 
the compass. But I held my right shoulder reso- 
lutely to his rays, and probably saved my life by the 
act. For I was traveling an unfeatured wilderness 
of grass. The day was hotter, even, than the pre- 
vious one had been ,and by the time the sun was 
three hours high the earth on which I rode seemed 
but an island swimming in a sea of liquid sky. There 
was no path through the dry, curled grass, which 
was unmarked by the hoof of any living thing. But 
there were skulls here and there, and bleached bones, 
showing that at another season this was a favorite 
pasture for cattle. I had grown feverish with thirst 
and exhaustion, and my horse no longer responded 
to my urging, when a wide, plain trail suddenly lay 
at my feet. It ran, as it seemed, to the very edge 
of my island, and there ended. But upon arriving 
at that point, I beheld below me a green valley, with 
buildings and fields. It seemed but a short distance 
away. But I knew better than to leave the trail. 

Numerous paths, some old and deep, some new 
and dim, made up this prairie thoroughfare, which 
was none other than the Upper Trail, which I had 
taken out of Red River Station. In the valley I 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


63 


found water and a road — yes, it was a road, for 
there were wheel marks on it — leading toward that 
inviting home. Quite up to my expectations of a 
Southern mansion was this place, all so vast, so old, 
so homelike. I approached it through a shady lane, 
all grassy and green, and yet so well traveled that 
my horse followed it without so much as a touch 
on the reins. A flock of blackbirds — more than 
four and twenty — twittered in a bordering corn field, 
and there were teasing glimpses of an orchard, and 
of white walls between the trees that bordered the 
lane. A stately procession of geese passed me with- 
out a break in their ranks, and there was a great 
fluttering of pigeons overhead. At the end of the 
lane was a gate, wide open, itself a welcome, and in 
the driveway beyond, a friendly dog barked, and 
wagged his tail at the same time, to show that all 
noise is not to alarm. There were flower beds 
bordering a walk, all gorgeous with color, and of 
the flowers we love most to see. And then the 
house, all white and cool, with its vines, its windows 
and porches, all open-armed to receive. 

After the glare and heat of the great prairie, this 
home was like a dream, and I rubbed my eyes to 
make sure that I was not having some misleading 
vision. And in another moment I rubbed them 
again. For drawn up by the flower-bordered walk 
was an old family coach, and ladies were in the act 
of dismounting from it. One, an elderly woman, 
whom I recognized at once as the sweet lady of my 
youth, Mrs. Halloway. The second was a slender, 
beautiful girl, with an exquisite ivory-like com- 
plexion and a wealth of brown hair, with just a 
tinge of bronze on the topmost crest of its waves. 


64 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Her eyes were like black diamonds. But that com- 
parison tells you little of their beauty. She gave me 
a glance as I sat on my horse, and it was like the 
steady, cold gleam of a diamond under the light ; 
but just then the old darky, who had been assisting 
the party to alight, seeing me for the first time, ran 
forward and bowed so low over his apologies, as to 
almost upset himself, and thereupon the goddess 
gave me a second glance, that was so full of fire and 
mirth that it bewildered and fascinated. 

This was the little Black-Eyed Susan grown to 
womanhood — eyes do not change with the years. 
And I knew her name as I gazed upon her — ‘"Birch” 
— for it seemed a part of her. And how sweet it 
was on the lips of her adoring mother. Birch — but 
it is useless for me to try to spell that sweetness out 
to you. I can only give you the five letters, and let 
you fit them, if you can, to the lovely young woman, 
herself the incarnation of light and life, of gentleness 
and love, slender as the willow, and as perfect in 
grace, yet, like the willow, strong. 

Talking with Mrs. Halloway was a young woman 
of clear, olive skin, almost dark when compared to 
Birch. And she spoke in such well-measured ac- 
cents, she walked with so proud a step, and held 
herself with such a haughty air, that one might easily 
have mistaken her for some royal personage, did the 
American continent hold any such. I surmised, and 
rightly, that she was the daughter of the house. But 
whose house was it? — to which the Halloways had 
come as guests, and I as a confused wanderer? 

The old darky, whom I had heard the haughty one 
address as “Uncle Levi,” with great deference now 
begged me to alight, and I had much to do convinc- 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


65 


ing him that I was not an appendant to the party of 
the coach. I asked only that I might remain until 
the ladies had finished their greetings and arranged 
their toilets, when I hoped to speak with Mrs. Hallo- 
way. It was my good fortune, however, when I 
approached the house an hour later, to find the 
young ladies on the veranda, and I made myself 
known to Miss Birch before requesting an interview 
with her mother. As was natural, she regarded me 
a little bit doubtfully until I recalled myself to her 
by relating a number of incidents of our childhood 
days, or rather of her childhood days, for I was 
quite a youth at their happening. As soon as she 
was wholly convinced, she presented me to the 
haughty one, speaking her name. Miss Levering. 

Levering ! Sunday dinners came to my mind with 
a bound. But I repeated in my best manner, ‘'Miss 
Levering,^’ and then added, “Although I crossed the 
line of your State barely forty-eight hours since, I 
have already heard the fame of the Leverings.’^ 

“Indeed,’’ she said with eyebrows arched above a 
cold smile. “Wheah did yu heah of us ?” 

“At Red River Station,” I responded gallantly. 

“Ah! Yu met my brothah, perhaps.” And the 
smile froze itself out of sight. 

“Your brother? No, I did not have that honor,” I 
replied, nor had a thought that Sleepy, Red, or even 
Chad might have had the name of Levering for any- 
thing I knew. 

To that remark, which I can see no fault in to 
this day. Miss Levering replied with a scarcely per- 
ceptible nod of her stately head, while she pierced 
me with a glance of cold disapproval. Then she 
presented her back to me — not an unwelcome change 


66 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


after that frosty glance — while she arranged a vine 
on a trellis. Her hands were very pretty, white and 
small. I wondered if she was employing herself to 
show them to me — yielding to my pique I would 
not look. Whether Miss Birch understood this little 
comedy or not I cannot say, but when our eyes met 
hers were full of mischief. She murmured some- 
thing about going in search of her mother, and left 
me alone with the enemy. 

In calling Miss Levering the enemy I do her no 
wrong. She was one of those who meet you in 
combat, if they meet you at all. And there is no 
dodging the fight with such a one — -it is on. You 
choose your weapons, she does the same. And I 
knew what Miss Levering’s weapon was — a cold, 
haughty, uncompromising sanctity, and there is 
nothing harder to pierce than that, be it the armor of 
man or woman. I was sorry for the girl who so 
proudly held up this cumbersome shield, and lived in 
its cold shadow. What could induce her to lay it 
down? Or would she ever? I had heard of fire 
burning upon ice ; but the thought brought a chill. 
I watched her, still busy with the vines. She was 
dressed in steel gray, and I thought that no other 
color would have suited her so exactly. There was 
no trace of girlishness in form or figure, yet I knew 
instinctively that she was not many years Miss 
Birch’s senior. But they looked upon life at totally 
diflferent angles; it was Miss Birch’s way to give 
sweet sympathy to all ailing humanity, whether the 
sickness w^as disease or sin ; it was Miss Levering’s 
way to preach the doctrine of sure damnation to the 
sin-sick and to repulse with cold hands all who 
would not be reformed. And yet, I knew that her 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


67 


love for the Master was greater than was Birch's 
love, and that her desire to serve Him was stronger 
far than her pride. I felt a wish to take her shield 
and smash it ! 

Mrs. Halloway, when she came down, greeted me 
with a warmth of friendliness that I scarcely ex- 
pected. '‘Now I shall have someone with whom I 
can talk," she exclaimed. "My husband and daugh- 
ter will not think or speak of anything but Texas — 
Tm tiahed of the subject," she explained, "heartily 
tiahed of it," and she ended with the delightful little 
Oo-o-o of a laugh which I remembered so well in 
this pleasant lady. I assured her that it would be a 
great pleasure to talk with her when and on what- 
ever subject she should wish, and concluded with 
these words: "We shall make them jealous." 

"Oo-o-o," she laughed. "Yu ah my same bad boy." 
And she patted me with her motherly hand, and 
added that I needed this Texas air, — I must go home 
with her, and live with her, she commanded it. 

No other words could have pleased me more. But 
to show her at the onset to what extent she had com- 
mitted herself, I began to whistle "Marching 
Through Georgia," a tune she abhorred. Where- 
upon she flew at me and gave me a "sound trounc- 
ing," as she called it, and I promised never to offend 
again. 

After so genuine a welcome had been accorded 
me by their guests the Leverings could not do other- 
wise than accept me into their home. I met Col. 
Levering, a fine old man, with hair snow white 
and a face as young almost as my own. Tall he 
was, and thin, and as erect as an oak. Hospitality 
was written all over him; kindness shone from his 


68 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


eye, and generosity was the very fibre of his being 
— it was not he that Miss Levering resembled. Mrs. 
Levering was her prototype. But in the latter, I 
soon discovered, the intolerant spirit had been ar- 
rested by an early marriage, and arrogance had been 
eclipsed by love. But I knew, without being told, 
that torture could not wring from either mother or 
daughter an admission that she ever thought of so 
gross a thing as money, or needing it found it 
scarce. I had a conversation with Mrs. Levering. 
After it I was held worthy to be presented to her 
youngest daughter. Miss Eunice, a girl of sixteen, or 
thereabouts, who had her father’s broad forehead 
and hearty, cheery manner — she warmed where her 
sister chilled. 

Now that we are all properly introduced, I will 
give to you that conversation I had with Mrs. 
Levering, which was to prepare me for the meeting 
with her daughter Eunice. Would the lady have 
schooled me thus for the meeting with Miss Lever- 
ing, had she had opportunity? I answered no; she 
was woman of the world enough to know that no 
man would become enthusiastic over an icicle. Said 
the lady: 

‘'Texas is a veyah rough place, socially, veyah 
rough. We have resided heyah eight years, and 
these ar’ ouah first guests from the neighborhood — 
ouah veyah first.” 

I said, “Ah !” It expressed nothing. I felt nothing, 
unless it were surprise. 

“Men come hyah, of course,” she continued in her 
gentle, cooing voice, “and they dine with us fre- 
quently, quite frequently. But I nevah allow my 
family to associate with them, — I do not permit my 
daughters to meet them.” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


69 


''Ah/* said I again. I was thinking of Morton — 
he would not refuse to partake of the feast he de- 
spised. But I checked my thought and added, '‘You 
must find it very lonely.’' 

"Lonely?” The tears came with the word. "I 
cannot tell yu how lonely we all ah, and I — I think I 
feel my children’s loneliness greater than my own.” 

I was touched. When I feel so, I rarely, if ever, 
commit myself to speech. She continued : 

"Yu cannot understand, — no man can,” and now 
she smiled, mother-like, through her tears, "the love 
of a mothah ! Your sex does not feel it, or know it. 
A mothah will shield her children at any cost to 
herself. The young ah so easily influenced — they 
pick up the manners and expressions of their associ- 
ates so readily. I know it to my sorrow. But I 
have my daughters. I can keep their minds puah 
and their ideals high.” The tears were in her eyes 
again, and she leaned nearer to me to add in a 
whisper: "What would my daughters become were 
I to permit them to associate with these cowboys, 
these ranchers, the uncooth boors of these prairies ? 
Such low cha-actahs !” 

"Perhaps,” I began, but there I seemed to stick. 
What could I say in the face of her eight years of 
experience? Nothing. And yet I could not accept 
her view. The cowboys I had met were not low. I 
could testify, not to my pleasure exactly, that they 
had cunning and were full of frolic; but their 
cunning was not vile, and their frolic was not vice, — 
I had not found it so. The ranchers I had encoun- 
tered were not polished gentlemen in any sense of 
the term, but they were not fossils — there is such a 
thing as polishing and petrifying. But I did not 


70 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


give this brilliant idea to my hostess, which was 
well. Instead, I spoke of my friends, and Miss 
Birch’s projected school teaching. I was curious to 
know how my hostess regarded the spirit of inde- 
pendence in young women. 

‘'Miss Birch,” cooed the lady, all herself again, 
“such a deah, sweet girl ! — it will be a shame to 
spoil her, will it not? Yu don’t mind me saying 
so? — no. I said as much to her mothah, but she 
assures me that it is quite useless to object — her 
fathah upholds her in it! And Miss Birch is a 
veyah ambitious girl — she has talent, yu know. And 
the fortunes of the family ah low — veyah low, — so 
the mothah told me, in confidence, yu understand.” 

So this was the reason for the Halloways’ coming 
to Texas? I recalled vague words of big specula- 
tions on the part of Mr. Halloway. And I under- 
stood perfectly the candor of the lady in telling this 
to her hostess ; Mrs. Halloway needed no claim to 
wealth to make her the social equal of the Leverings 
— and she knew this as well as anybody — the sweet, 
gentle refinement of her nature would have passed 
her into the best circle anywhere, had she been in 
calico — she would never be in rags. 

Mrs. Levering resumed, speaking of Miss Birch, 
because, I fear, I exhibited more interest in that 
topic than any upon which we had touched. She 
said: 

“She is so-o full of life, isn’t she? Yu knew her 
as a child? Oh, yes. See now, her hands and feet 
must be still, so her eyes ah dancing ! Did yu evah ? 
Ouah younger daughter is like her — a little.” 

It was at this juncture that she beckoned to Miss 
Eunice and presented me. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 71 

I felt quite on my good behavior, after the con- 
versation above related, and spread my coat-tails, 
professor-like, as I sat down. I was sure, were I to 
let slip a grammatical error, or make use of a word 
of slang, in the hearing of this daintily nurtured 
creature I should be universally condemned. There- 
fore, I did not launch into voluble conversation. But 
the girl, to my surprise, seemed quite at her ease, 
and talked with a free and natural grace that was 
altogether charming. And but for the watchful eye 
and (I felt) listening ear of the elder sister, we had 
been good-fellows in five minutes. As it was, I 
confined myself to book topics — always, so eti- 
quette has it, good form. But this was the very 
thing that brought trouble — perhaps trouble was 
inevitable. Miss Levering joined us, and at once 
appropriated the conversation. Eunice assumed a 
pout. 

'‘Yu interrupt, sistah,” she complained. "We 
were discussing Shakespeare.'' 

"Yu ah too young to understand drama," said 
Miss Levering coldly. 

"How am I ever to understand it if I cannot put 
in " 

" Tut in' ? Eunice, wheyah did yu get that ex- 
pression?" And Miss Levering gave me a severe 
glance. 

Eunice blushed. "I am reading Shakespeare this 
summah," she pleaded. 

"Theyah !" Miss Levering put out a white hand. 
"We do not always talk about the latest thing we 
read, sistah." 

"Some of we poor mortals are thankful if we can 
recall even that," I hastened to say. 


72 


TfiE Upper trail 


''In this wilderness, — yes.” Miss Levering sat 
down. 

‘'I do not think the weakness confined to Texas,” 
said I, and gave Eunice a look of sympathy. 

‘T will agree,” Miss Levering replied with spirit, 
''the real Texan does not read at all.” 

"Yu ah too hard on ouah State, sistah,” said 
Eunice, and the look she gave me as she turned 
away told me that, although she was being brought 
up (it almost seemed) as in a convent, wordless 
conversation was not alien to her understanding. 

"Ouah State !” Miss Levering tried to smile. 
"Eunice delights to tease me. But do yu not find 
these Texans rude and uncouth?” 

I disclaimed a right to judge and added, "Liter- 
ature is a late arrival in any country — pioneer settle- 
ments always depend on oral communication first, 
— they have traditional tales ” 

"Oh, yes, in times past. But these people have 
no right to live as they do, — no right at all. That 
they live as we see them indicates their taste and 
preference.” 

"They are taking the first step of progress,” said 
I, repressing a yawn, for I had lost much sleep. 
"The rising generation, under Miss Birch’s training, 
will ” 

"But can nothing be done for those who have 
passed school age?” she interrupted, "these vulgah 
cowboys ! Ah yu content to do nothing foah them ? 
Must they go on in their dreadful state of sin to 
corrupt othahs ? — to bring up families of their 
own?” 

"We learn much through association. Children 
often teach their parents.” That was the best I 
could do. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


73 


'‘The few among many are always lost. My 

brothah ’’ She paused and sat pensive. Was I 

going to see a trace of womanliness in her ? But no. 
"We recall Lot’s "family/’ she said in a tone that 
was almost strident. 

"But Lot was sordid always,” I replied. "His 
selfish choice proves that. Such a result is not 
inevitable.” 

"I think it is,” she said, with a bitterness that 
astonished me, as I was ignorant of its cause. I 
replied : 

"You discourage me. Miss Levering. I had 
thought to enlist as a cowboy, — I had hoped to — 
to benefit those with whom I came in contact,” I 
finished lamely, for in truth I had entertained no 
such hope until her remark opened the idea to my 
mind. 

"Then let me dissuade yu,” she said, with a cold- 
ness that disproved any personal interest in the 
premises. "Believe me, yu will fail, and not alone 
fail, but go down to degradation with othahs — 
othahs who have made the same mistake.” 

"You are no flatterer,” said I, feeling a twinge 
of injury. "I am no young boy, — my ideals are as 
fixed as the stars.” 

She lifted her eyebrows. "I beg yuah pardon,” 
she said ungraciously, "but yu must know that a 
family that has lost a son through drunkenness 
would close all the grog shops.” 

She arose and left me at once. But the picture of 
a young man — her brother! — the only son of this 
proud family, remained as she had suggested it to 
my imagination — a veritable degenerate, debauched, 
his aristocratic frame tortured almost out of human 


74 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


shape; his work to curse and deride; his recre- 
ation drinking and gambling. I was glad that I had 
not met him at Red River Station, — glad that there 
were none there like him. 

For several minutes I sat looking upon this pic- 
ture which a sister suggested for me. Then some- 
one called : 

‘Joseph!’’ 

Miss Levering responded by quitting the room. 
Joseph! How well the name suited her. And no 
one would think of abbreviating it. Fancy anyone 
addressing that paragon as Joe ! Eunice, I was 
willing to wager, never had done it, — she would not 
feel that she was addressing her sister. But now 
the young girl returned to me. As she crossed the 
room, something in her walk and something in her 
frank manner and bright smile, as she seated her- 
self opposite me, reminded me of someone — yes, 
someone that I had met in Texas. But I could not 
fix the elusive likeness, which so engrossed me that 
I sat silent, until she spoke. With mature subtlety 
she said: 

‘T think we may resume now, — Towser’s gone. 
Yu were telling me that Robert Shallow was drawn 
from a real man — Sir somebody. I am eager to 
know moah.” 

I expressed my delight at her interest, and we 
were soon deep in the fascinations of drama. While 
across the room Miss Birch and Col. Levering were, 
it appeared, as deeply engrossed. This delighted 
company remained undisturbed until dinner was an- 
nounced. 

The dining room was spacious and the table most 
inviting. We assembled around it, a happy, chat- 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


75 


taring company, until Miss Levering entered, when 
conversation dwindled, like a run-down music box, 
and finally ceased. I was conscious of the awkward 
silence, conscious of negroes standing with bowed 
heads back of me. I looked at them, and at my 
companions, and then 

^^Ouah great and powerful Judge ’’ 

Miss Levering was saying grace. I bowed my 
head, and was conscious of a third thing — that a 
deep flush was upon my face for my unseemly con- 
duct. She made her '^thanks’’ long, and did not 
forget the cowboys. She reminded the Father that 
He was their righteous and unrelenting judge, but 
she made herself his attorney, and informed in this 
preface that they had no ''case'' — they were damned 
already. The effect was saddening on us all. 
And when the meal began our gayety did not return ; 
the music box had, of a truth, stopped, and Miss 
Levering put the key in cold storage — probably in 
her pocket. 

The meal ended, I took my leave. I learned at 
table that Mrs. Halloway and her daughter were 
not returning home that day, so there was nothing 
for me but to go on without them. I was given 
detailed directions as to route, and a negro was sent 
along to remember what I should forget. I accepted 
it all gratefully. I had learned that one can lose 
himself as easily in an unfeatured prairie as he 
can in a timbered wilderness. 

At dusk I reached the new home of the Hallo- 
ways. The Colonel made me welcome, and assured 
me that he could provide all the employment I 
wanted. I went to bed, and to sleep, thinking Texas 
a land of promises fulfilled. But my dreams were 


76 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


disturbed by the wild racing and horrible cursing of 
a drunken cowboy. 

CHAPTER IV. 

BIRCH HALLOWAY. 

The Halloway home was not new in the sense of 
having just been established. The buildings had 
been erected for several years, and the fields were 
in a good state of cultivation. There were shade 
trees, an orchard and shrubs in the garden, but 
things did not yet bear the stamp of a plantation 
home such as was seen at Levering’s. Col. Hallo- 
way, however, meant that they should soon. Already 
he had brought several negroes with families up 
from the South, and that was a long step toward the 
desired end. 

My work was varied and altogether delightful. I 
always had a fancy for horses, and was given the 
care of several fine ones. That was my only regular 
work. But there were walks and fences to be put 
in repair, besides the house to turn inside out. Each 
housewife, it seems, must make over every abode 
as she moves into it. Mrs. Halloway was no ex- 
ception to the general rule. I tore shelves out and 
put shelves in ; likewise, I pulled nails out and drove 
nails in. It came to be a joke between Miss Birch 
and myself to ask each other for a nail every time 
we met. 

So I was hustled about until my clumsy efforts 
were no longer needed indoors. Then I was at lib- 
erty to go about the estate, which I did usually with 
a darky at my heels, and we made new fences or 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


77 


repaired the old, as seemed necessary. Each day I 
covertly felt my biceps, — I had not forgotten that I 
''needed a body to back up my ideas.” And I was 
going to have ideas to back up soon. I was sure of 
that. 

I talked always with the negro who accompanied 
me — the darky of the South was a new and interest- 
ing variety to me — and I often got a good deal of 
amusement out of my man, once, when I little ex- 
pected it. 

"Tighten that top wire a little more,” I com- 
manded. "Tighten it! Why, Gabe, can’t you get 
down and pull?” 

To my surprise Gabe — his name was Gabriel and 
had "lig-us snifikans” — got down prone upon the 
earth, and, of course, slid back bodily as he tugged 
at the wire. His outraged expression as he got to 
his feet was high comedy. 

Another day I inquired of this same Gabe, "Do 
you know Uncle Levi over at Levering’s ?” 

"No, sah,” he replied promptly. "He’s from Ken- 
tucky.” 

"Does that prevent you from knowing him?” 

"It do-an me none,” he responded cheerfully, "but 
them darkeys as come from Kentuck thinks them- 
selfs the selected!' 

I wish I could tell you just how great was my 
enjoyment of these things, and how the novelty of 
my work made it only recreation; and just how 
sweet was my sleep at night, and how the clean, pure 
air of the mornings was like a tonic taken at every 
breath, until I seemed to feel my blood growing- 
thicker and brighter crimson. I had rather run, 
those days, than walk ; rather shout than not. Miss 


78 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Birch was in a similar state of exuberant spirits, 
and we romped together like two children. We were 
never so happy as when one had consummated some 
joke on the other. One day this playful spirit almost 
brought disaster. I was exercising a stallion in the 
yard, when Miss Birch, coming around a corner, saw 
me and the horse, and at once spread her skirts to a 
ridiculous figure and uttered a shriek. The horse 
gave one bound, was over me and gone. I scrambled 
up, and quite dumb from a blow on the head, turned 
toward the girl. I had many things to say to her 
just then, but my lips were dumb. Birch put out 
her hand, and in a voice that trembled a little, said : 

^'Have yu a nail 

All voiceless still, I drew one from my pocket and 
handed it to her. 

''Thank yu,’' she said, her lip quivering a little. "I 
shall always keep it.” 

"Why?” I blurted. 

"It will remind me, I hope, that there is a time 
and place for all things.” And now there were 
tears. 

"Nonsense, girl ! Tm not hurt.” 

"It is no fault of mine that yu ah not,” she said 
sadly. "I shall keep the nail.” 

I was glad that the blow on my head had been 
sufficient to keep me silent. The dear girl felt the 
hurt more than I did. She would never need a re- 
minder to loving kindness. But she kept the nail. 
Years afterward, at a meeting full of joy to us 
both, she brought out a little box of treasures and 
showed me the nail among them. We may scoff at 
this treasuring habit in women, but we love them 
for it. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


79 


As soon as my head stopped buzzing, I called 
Gabe and went into the field. I was a bit shaken 
still, and so lounged on the grass while he worked. 
Our talk, this time, was of Red River Station. Gabe 
had been there once, ‘‘fo-ah a momph.’’ To him it 
was a great and wonderful place, where murder and 
theft were committed as regularly as night should 
come. In one of his incredible narratives, he men- 
tioned the Upper Trail. Naturally the name brought 
an unfortunate adventure to my mind, and I asked 
about that trail — where did it go? 

''No-whar, as I knows of.’’ 

I smiled ; he had, undoubtedly, been sold on that. 
I altered my question, ^'Where do the people go that 
travel it?” I asked. 

He seemed perturbed, then said : 

^T’ve seen dem cowboys go and go, on that Uppah 
Trail, and they went out of sight, and come in sight, 
and got littler and littler, till finally they was gone ! 
— clean done gone into the sky, looked like !” 

‘'Did any of them ever come back?” I asked 
tragically. 

Gabe’s eyes rolled, but he answered positively, 
“Ye-as, sah. They all done come back from dat 
Uppah Trail, sah. But them as went on the Lowah 
Trail — I never seen none of them come back.” 

I asked about this Lower Trail. Gabe was eager 
to inform me. 

“The Lower Trail follows the Rivah down, and 
no honest man don’t dare to travel it, sah. Bad men 
travels that trail, they does, bad white men, no 
niggahs ; I’se done sartin suah of dat, sah.” 

“How do you know that?” I asked. 

“Why, yu know, sah, dat trail follows the rivah. 


80 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


and it keeps in low, dark places, sah, — in draws and 
timber — and thar’s dead men layin’ alongside of it 
— dead men — that never was pot in the ground — no 
funeral — just dead thar and — and dead, with bullet 
holes in ’em and with their heads mashed in, 
and ” 

I laughed at him. Gabe was scaring himself with 
his weird tale. I got him to work again, and then 
spoke once more of the Upper Trail. 'Tt keeps on 
the high divide,” I said. 

''Ye-as, sah, but it goes across a brack prairie.” 
Gabe’s eyes rolled again, but he added convincedly, 
'That ain’t nothin’ but a prairie like this here is, but 
the grass is most black, kase it grows so quick out 
of soil that’s rich. A prairie won’t git nobody.” 

"Did once,” said I, to tease, "a long time ago the 
hills fell upon the wicked.” 

Gabe worked on composedly. Things that hap- 
pened a long time ago seemed to hold no terrors for 
him. ^ But I knew that Gabe had a half-fear of the 
prairie, when all buildings had vanished. For I had 
related to him my experience of spending a night 
alone and lost, and he had regarded me with a kind 
of awe for several days. After a while I asked 
again : "What town is at the south end of that Upper 
Trail, Gabe?” 

Gabe stopped his work. "Why, now, thar sure 
enough is a town down thar — Herrington — a town 
worf somethin’. They have steam key-ahs and a 
ho-tel, down thar.” 

"It must be quite a place,” said I, sarcastic without 
intention. 

"Sure enough! — quality lives thar — folks big as 
Leverings.” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


81 


I lay still on the grass. A light breeze was stirring 
and heart-shaped shadows of the leaves of a young 
cottonwood danced over my clothing. I watched 
them and mused : 

It must be nice to be regarded as ''the best.’’ And 
the Leverings hold this reputation without effort — 
merely by living up to a high standard of elegance. 
. . . Up North we struggle and fret and attain 
in the end some sort of a commercial standing — too 
often at the sacrifice of all that is personal. . . . 
This Southern way is better. It is self-culture. 
. . . But if the two could be mixed. ... If 
Miss Joseph could put some human with her divine 
— some warmth with her cold. ... I like variety 
in a woman . . . mystery. . . . Her hands are 
pretty. . . . Joseph . . . 

And then I was fast asleep. 

I awoke with a wild start. The earth was 
trembling under me. A shriek of maddened fear 
smote my ears like a blow, and I staggered up. 
Was this some nightmare, or was there a horse 
there? Was Gabe rolling down the hill? Was that 
a cowboy on that horse? Yes, for now he spoke. 

"I’d a mind to draw my gun and scare yu right,” 
he said, grinning. 

"It wasn’t necessary,” I replied unsteadily. "I 
thought I had nightmare.” 

"I’ve seen horses fly like birds” he declared. 

Then he drew a package from his pocket and 
gravely held it out to me. "I brought out your mail,” 
he said. 

I gasped. Who was this man? What right had 
he to call for my mail ? How did he know my name 
to ask? I was dumbfounded! The cow-puncher 
spoke again, giving a little — just a little, light. 


82 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


''Red he sent me around with it, — he bein’ too 
busy to come. He wrote some word to yu — he said 
he did. I’ll be goin’ now.” 

I got myself together sufficiently to thank him, 
but I was altogether dazed. Gabe spoke at my 
elbow. 

"I dun thought them hills was sure enough fail- 
in’,” he said, his teeth chattering still. 

"I thought so my ” But here was writing 

penciled on an envelope. 

" 'Yu oughtn’t to leave no such as these layin’ 
around no one-horse Texas postoffice. I hoped to 
get them to you sooner.’ ” 

Plainly it was Red who wrote the words, but that 
did not lessen my surprise and amazement. How 
came he to know the importance of my mail? On 
another envelope was written more hurriedly : 

"I don’t know where you are, but I will chance 
this boy finding you, and it will be fun for him. He 
gets enjoyment nosing people out like a pointer dog, 
and he is as good intentioned as one. Come to town 
some day.” 

I read these writings over a second time, and my 
amazement increased. I was not unmindful of the 
kindness he had shown me, but I was too near stupe- 
fied by the doing to have a rational thought. Had I 
have known that even as I read the words traced by 
his hand, death was stalking at his elbow, I would 
have been even more bewildered. 

I opened a letter. It required an immediate answer 
and had already lain five days at the Station. I went 
to the house at once, and having made known my 
intentions to Col. Halloway, mounted my horse and 
started for Herrington — that town beyond the Black 


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83 


Prairie, where were "'steam key-ahs’^ and oppor- 
tunity to send a telegram. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE BLACK PRAIRIE. 

The sun was about an hour up when I reached 
Herrington. The depot was not far to seek, and I 
sent my telegram. That done, I went in search of 
the "ho-tel.’’ It was there and true to label. I ate 
a breakfast that would have satisfied anyone with 
an appetite, for it was true Southern cooking. But 
the surroundings were not so delectable. While I 
ate, a man in the room was handcuffed and taken 
out by officers. There was law here, and grave need, 
too, I thought. More of crime this place certainly 
saw than did Red River Station, — more in a day 
than did the latter in a month. I had never eaten in 
a room before where were so many vicious-looking 
characters, men and women, — I might have been in 
the dining room of some prison. But there were 
gentlemen, too, and ladies, fine, cultured people, who 
ate at tables in the far end of the room, and held 
themselves haughtily aloof from the common herd. 
On the street it was the same — the very low and the 
very high ; thugs, negroes and aristocrats ; no middle 
class at all. But all at once I saw one ahead of me. 
His step was quick and elastic — he walked as if he 
had something to do. 

I felt akin to this man and desired to overtake 
him. I did so, and almost shouted for joy when I 
saw his face. 

“RedT’ I exclaimed. "How are you? Shake!’’ 


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He stopped as if I had dealt him a blow. His 
face went pale and his gaze pierced my very soul. 

I was taken aback by his manner, but was too 
glad to see him to be fastidious. I said : 

“Yu can't look into my stumach, my friend, — 
don't try. I will tell you what I had for breakfast 
— pone and " 

“Is — did yu put your hawss in the barn?" he 
asked, hoarsely. 

“He is in a barn," said I, naming the place. “And 
I guess he is as glad for his rations as I was for 
mine, — I rode him all night." 

His brow contracted. We stood in front of a 
restaurant. He opened the door. “Come in here," 
he said. 

He spoke gently, but the words were a command. 
I obeyed, glad to be with him. At a table he gave 
his order, “Aigs, soft, and battah cakes." Then he 
folded his arms in front of him and his chin dropped 
on his chest. When his food came, he lifted his 
tired gaze to my face and said : 

“I had a right hard night myself." 

If I could have guessed how hard! But I sus- 
pected nothing, and we talked of many things, or 
rather, I did the talking and he ate, muttering be- 
tween bites, “Ya-ah" and “Sure enough." I thanked 
him for sending out my mail, and mentioned sending 
the telegram. I told him of my midnight ride across 
the Black Prairie, and of what I thought of the 
town. I informed him of a desire to purchase a re- 
volver while there, and asked his advice on this. He 
gave it briefly, “Colt — 44." He spoke these words 
gently and lightly. When the meal was finished he 
arose quite himself again. 


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85 


'Til be right busy foah an houah, — Fll see yu 
then/' he said. 

And I told him gratefully, 'Til wait — I'll hang 
around here." 

Red's hour lengthened to one and one-half, and 
then to two. I wandered about, smoking cigar after 
cigar. This was the best part of the town, evidently, 
for I was among aristocrats, yet alone. They did 
not ignore me, these gentlemen — always tall, always 
pale, always with a long silken mustache with a 
Spanish curl at the ends — they merely did not see 
me. I followed one into a saloon. He was well 
dressed, and there was an air of nobility about him 
for all he looked weary, and jaded and gaunt, and 
had that nameless expression of countenance worn 
by a man when his stomach at last refuses whiskey. 
He carried a cane, and I noticed the hand on its 
golden head — a pigeon foot, red, tapering, and claw- 
like. He paused wishfully beside the bar. I called 
for beer and looked him over as I waited. Then my 
gaze traversed the room. I noticed a broken chair, 
a few scattered cards on the floor, a table, and a 
man half-reclining upon it. His position was 
peculiar, showing absolute relaxation of attitude, 
and yet a peculiar rigidity of muscles. I seemed to 
feel a fascination and moved to his side. 

"Why, this man is dead !" I exclaimed, at a glance. 

The bartender gave me a look and went on with 
his corkscrew. 

"He is " I began. 

But the man who had entered with me touched 
my sleeve. I beheld in the dead man the counter- 
part of this one — the same nobility, the same name- 
less expression of countenance, the same claw-like 


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hand. And this man spoke to me, with the gentle, 
Southern drawl. 

‘‘I reckon his bein’ dayad is none of your busi- 
ness,” he said, without rancor. 

‘‘No,” I gasped in horror, ‘‘but has he no friends? 
Someone should notfy his relatives, or have him 
removed to ” 

The live man — I almost said live corpse — smiled. 
“I am his closest relative,” he said, slowly. “I reckon 
I was duly notified that my bullet struck his hyart, 
since none came to mine, seh.” 

I gasped out some sort of apology, saying, I be- 
lieve, that it was not my intention to meddle, but 
that I naturally thought it strange for a man to be 
sitting dead at a card table — a gentleman at least. 

Again this cadaverous individual smiled, lifting 
a colorless lip from dead white teeth. “He hasn’t 
been a gentleman foah thirty years,” he said calmly. 
“He stole my sweethyart away from me thirty years 
ago this day.” 

I looked hard at the man to see if he was serious. 
He was. I turned and left him beside his dead. As 
I crossed the room the bartender held out my glass 
of beer. I shook my head, but paid him for it. The 
air of the street refreshed me more. 

At the corner I met Red. He had lost much of 
his preoccupied air, and made me feel at once that 
he was as glad for my company as I for his. We 
purchased some articles for our noonday lunch, and 
were almost immediately on our way. We rode side 
by side, and I was struck by the untarnished youth 
and proud strength of my companion. The picture 
of the dead man and his cousin came to my mind. 
Had they been like this splendid youth, before 


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87 


alcohol stole reason from their heads and flesh from 
their bones? I broached the subject to Red, saying: 

''Hate lives long in your country/’ 

"Hate ?” He gave me a glance, then added lazily : 
"So yu was in there? I heard about it. Yes, hate 
lives long. But when I get ready to kill a man, I 
reckon I won’t wait thirty years. How did yu know 
that I’m from Kentucky?” 

"I was putting both you and the cousins in Texas,” 
I replied. But I was thinking, even as I spoke, of 
Birch Halloway. If that man’s sweetheart had 
been like Birch — somehow, I felt less hard toward 
the man back there guarding his dead. If his cousin 
had stolen her away with lies — but no, the time to 
have settled it was right then, as Red had said, not 
thirty years later. Might Red ever — but he was 
looking at me. 

"There nevah was a murderer in ouah family,” 
he said, with a trace of pride, "and I reckon I’ll 
nevah kill nobody. If my sweetheart likes some 
othah fello’ bettah than she does me, she can take 
him. That ain’t sayin’ that a thief oughtn’t to be 
shot, but yu cayn’t steal love — I’m old enough to 
know that.” 

"You are pretty old, then,” said I, "older than 
he back in town will ever get.” 

He looked at me again intently, then asked 
abruptly, "What did yu go in there foah?” 

"In the saloon? — oh, I didn’t know, of course, 
and I thought that a glass of beer would take up 
five minutes of my wait.” 

He still observed me. "A glass of beer took up 
five minutes of your time,” he stated. "How much 
of your time would a drink of whiskey have took?” 


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I smiled, but his face remained serious. “Pro- 
pound your problem to a man that takes whiskey,’' 
said 1. 

“Yu don’t?” He put the question sharp and 
quick. 

“I do not, my friend,” I replied, as serious now 
as he. “And I have never seen you take a drink.” 

“I do some things that don’t please my folks,” he 
stated casually. “I dance, and I play cards, when 
there ain’t no money up, and I punch cows. I 
swear undah propah provocation, and a few times 
I’ve drew my gun on a fello’ man. And I ain’t to 
say proud of none of them accomplishments. But 
if I took whiskey, and knowed I couldn’t stop takin’ 
whiskey. I’d shoot somebody nearer of kin to me 
than a cousin.” 

“It makes a wreck of a man,” said I. 

“A wreck?” And now he drew his horse dovm 
to a walk. “I’ve seen men that drank whiskey all 
their lives and seemed no worse for it, and I’ve 
seen men go down to ruin undah a year of whiskey. 
I’ve seen smart men that drank — had drank all their 
lives ” 

“But,” I interrupted, “they would have been 
smarter if ” 

“Wait,” he commanded, and began where I had 
broken in. “And I’ve seen men that was fools that 
never touched a drop of whiskey, nor their parents 
before them. I’ve known men that was princes 
when sobah, to beat their wives when drunk, and 
Pve known men to mistreat women and nevah touch 
no liquor. So I ain’t one of thern kind that lays 
everything to whiskey. Big things are bo’n into a 
man, and whiskey or no othah kind of foolishness 


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89 


will kill it completely, be the thing good or bad. 
But I say if a man has got a little meanness bo’n 
into him, whiskey will strengthen it. And if he has 
got a little smartness bo’n in him, whiskey will 
weaken that. I say these things, and I know them 
to be as true as that sun yondah. And then I turn 
around and look at myself, and I say, ‘Red, yu 
freckled-face son-of-a-gun, yu ain't bo'n with no 
big thing inside of yu! Yu was bo'n with a little 
natural meanness, and a little natural smartness — 
that meanness has got to be kept down, and that 
smartness has got to be kept in a growin' state. 
Yu don't need no whiskey.' I don't reckon I'll evah 
need none." 

He had reduced the whole question to facts as 
plain as two and two, and applied the sum to him- 
self — I had never heard a philosopher do it better. 
I tried the experiment. 

“Well," said I after a moment, “if you put it that 
w^ay, I will never need any, either." 

Grave as a judge he looked at me for full a min- 
ute. And vTgain, as. those times at the Greyhound, 
I seemed to feel his gaze as it traveled over me. 
He was making his estimate — it hardly was flatter- 
ing, for he said: 

“I don't reckon yu evah will." 

I laughed out. “Red," said I, “your penetration 
does you credit. No," and I became suddenly 
serious, “whiskey would destroy what little smart- 
ness there is in me — there isn't much." 

He did not look at me as he replied uncon- 
cernedly, “I reckon I don't know how much. But 
I wouldn't swap with yu to-day, — and ten yeahs 
from now " His eyes were lifted toward the 


90 


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sky, they were bright with hope, fierce with deter- 
mination. I gazed at him in surprise. I was be- 
ginning — just beginning — to understand something 
about this cowboy. Red . 

‘'What is your ambition ?” I asked. “What, 
above all else, do you desire to be?” 

“A man!” he said, short and crisp. “Thafs all 

— and that's everything! A man physically ” 

He looked admiringly at his strong limbs. I looked 
at mine, noted the contrast, and felt my color come. 
“A man physically,” he repeated, “and a man 
socially, — that means, have education and money; 
a man morally, — that means, have nothin’ taggin’ 
at my heels like a black cat, sayin’, ‘I’ll tell this on 
yu ; I’ll tell that on yu.’ I don’t want to break 
none of God’s commandments.” 

“A difficult path you have marked for yourself, 
my friend,” said I, half amused at his ideal in this 
wild country. “Are you going to live in Texas?” 

He smiled up at me. “Texas,” said he, “is big 
enough for the biggest kind of a man.” 

“It is — yes. But suppose now — from behind that 
bush” — we were approaching the River Brazos, 
across which a long bridge stretched in diminishing 
arches — “a man should step out and say, ‘Red, you 
have been too active in this cattle stealing business,’ 
and draw his gun — What about the sixth com- 
mandment? Would you let him kill you?” 

He looked sharply at me from the first word. 
His answer was far from expected. “Yu get me 
dead in this — What are yu here foah?” 

I started, but forced a laugh. Then put my hand 
upon my chest and passed it to my thigh. “The 
physical me,” said I, “it needed ” 


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91 


“Yu got that idea aftah yu got here/’ he inter- 
rupted. “When I saw yu that first time, yu hadn’t 
the decency to be propah ashamed of them naked 
bones.” 

I continued my laugh, but with some effort. 
“No, because I did not realize then how naked they 
were.” Then, noticing that he waited expectantly, 
I resumed, “I read that Texas was one of the good 
places for a young man to get his start. I 
thought ” 

I spoke lamely, for I knew that I was not con- 
vincing him. I was glad when he interrupted again 
with : 

“I know this about yu — yu ain’t done nothin’ that 
yu are ashamed of. Yu didn’t come down here, 
like lots, because yu had to get somewhere where 
law and justice couldn’t find you out. When I seen 
that in yu, I said yu was my friend.” 

“And I thank you,” I cried warmly. “I hope 
that we may always be friends.” 

“Yes,” he said, his gaze steadily on the bridge 
ahead, “I hope that, too. But I’ve found yu out 
in anothah thing — yu don’t break down no doors.” 

I did not understand. His manner, as well as 
his words, puzzled me. He seemed to be looking 
for someone, — expecting something. One hand 
was on his revolver. I noticed this, as I repeated 
blankly, “Break down doors?” We were on the 
bridge now. Near its further end timber grew 
close up, and the road beyond was lost to view. 
When we reached that point. Red stopped his hors^e 
and sat still a moment, lisening and peering into 
the timber. Then he swung himeslf off, and picked 
up several empty cartridges from the dust. He 


92 


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examined these carefully, then looked long down 
the river. It was swollen a little — evidently there 
had been a rain up in the foothills — and was moving 
in a swift, muddy whirl. Red turned about 
abruptly, and handed one of the cartridges to me, 
saying : 

'‘Some time yu will know why I give that to 

I looked it over. "Thank you,” said I, lightly, 
"for what I am to know.” 

He nodded after he got on his horse, and then 
said : "I told yu that yu don’t break down no doors. 

Things are always ready for yu ” He flung 

out a hand. "Your life is like a long hall in a big 
building, and all the doors along that hall are open 
to yu. Yu went in at one, and it was a school. Yu 
went into another, and it was a college, with in- 
struments for instruction — all that yu needed. And 
the next door ahead was open, and the next — 
always open. All yu had to do was to go in, and 
opportunity was there waitin’ foah yu — one chance 
aftah another there, watiin’ like stalks in a row of 
corn. Somebody has a job foah yu — somebody 
wants to help yu all the time. Somebody is doin’ 
your work all the time — always has been, always 
will be, — and yu get the credit. I’d like to have 
been bo’n like yu.” 

"You — you ” I was angry, but had the sense 

to try to conceal it. "Things have come my way 
some,” I blurted finally. "But no one does my 
work for me,” I finished hotly. 

He dismissed my anger with a motion of his 
hand. "Look at me,” he said. "Every door is shut 
to me, — shut and locked I have got to break them 


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93 


down or stay out. School doors was locked to me, 
but I got in now and then. College doors is locked. 
And I look ahead and see doors and doors, — behind 
them are things I want, opportunities Td like to 
have — but them doors are locked, every one of 
them. And they always will be locked, unless I go 
back to that first door I skipped, — that college door, 
and break it in. And after that take them as they 
come and break them down. See, how different 
things are with me? Why should yu, with all your 
chances, get mad because I can see how things 
are 

‘‘I should not,’’ I acknowledged, for my anger 
had vanished. ‘'But nobody does my work for 
me,” I stoutly maintained. 

He gave me a slow smile. “Yu don’t tell me 
why yu came here,” he said, looking again at a 
cartridge he had picked up, “and I respect your 
silence more than I would your confidence, likely. 
But I thought oncet — well, as I said, doors are 
always shut for me ; foah yu they are always open. 
The creator of this here rivah, and this here Black 
Prairie, made things as they be — I ain’t so on - 
Christian as to quarrel with His doin’s.” 

And now his countenance and his manner 
changed completely. He slipped the empty cart- 
ridges into his pocket. His face beamed with the 
joy of living; he was care-free, happy, almost boy- 
ish. As we emerged from the timber, he lifted his 
white hat from his head, gave it a wide sweep, and, 
with a wild whoop of greeting to the level prairie, 
dashed ahead of me, his red hair rising on his head, 
his arms flung out, his horse at a dead run. 

I soon overtook him, for he did not continue in 


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his wild race long. As I rode alongside, he apolo- 
gized for his action. 

'This here pony,” said he, "belonged last to a 
Spaniard. It takes a yell and a prod of the spur 
to wake him up propah.” 

I observed the horse. "This isn’t the one you 
were riding that day at the Station,” I said, just to 
be talking. 

But as his gaze came slowly to my face, I saw 
that he was deeply touched. The curtain of his 
soul was, for an instant, drawn, and I had one 
glimpse of his inner nature, as one sees a house 
between trees from a moving train. But when he 
spoke his tone was careless. 

"He’s dead,” he said softly. 

"Oh,” I replied, surprised. "He was a fiery little 
animal.” 

"Ya-ah, — I roped him on the range, and gentled 
him myself.” He drew the empty cartridges from 
his pocket and held them in the palm of his hand. 
"One of these did foah him — or maybe it’s the one 
yu got.” 

I was astonished. I found my cartridge, and at 
once it was repulsive to me. I would have tossed 
it away had he not been watching. 

"Last night it was.” He spoke softly yet. "Back 
there at the rivah. He was a good hawss. This 
here one — But he rides easy, and knows how to 
hold on to the trail, — that’s somethin’.” 

I was busy constructing a mental picture. "He 
broke a leg, I suppose, and you had to shoot him,” 
said I, making facts to fit my picture. 

"No, he nevah broke no laig,” said Red, drawl- 
ing his words more than usual. "Them cartridges 
wouldn’t fit in my revolver.” 


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95 


I gasped. ^^Somebody shot him? — shot him 
under you, Red? Oh, I wish I had. been there!’’ 

He smiled at my excitement, or was it at my 
assurance. 

''If yu had have been there,” he said calmly, 
"w’ed have both been shot. Three men in a fight 
is one too many. It’s like playin’ tennis — your 
pardner gets in the way, and the othah fello’ gets 
the game. I like to do my own playin’.” 

"Tennis — yes. But last night, what ” 

"I got to playin’ tennis down at Waco,” he said 
with provoking slowness. "It was there that I 
broke down the door to a schoolhouse and got in 
for a part of term. If I hadn’t I’d talk faster and 
maybe bettah, for I wouldn’t know that what I 
was sayin’ wasn’t accordin’ to pronouns and ad- 
verbs. I learned correct — I know correct, yet when 
I try, but I reckon I’ll nevah do anything in this 
world without knowin’ the why of it.” 

"But last night?” I burst out. "Have you no 
idea who it was that shot your horse?” 

He gave me that slow smile again. He would 
not tell me until he was fully ready — I could see 
that. And I half suspected that he was not going 
to tell me at all. But in this I was mistaken. After 
we had gone a mile or more, he began speaking of 
his own accord. 

"Last night was a different night from most,” 
said he, never taking his gaze from the winding 
trail ahead. "It was a night like that one Poe 
wrote about in his poetry of the raven — shadders 
got to be birds and beasts and things. And this here 
Black Prairie” — he swept his arm wide out — "is 
kind of lonesome-like at night. The stars are away 


96 


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up yondah, and when yu look at them, why they 
seem to draw back like they was afraid. And there 
ain’t no cow a-bawlin’, and no dawg a-barkin’ ; 
there ain’t no owl a-hootin’ and no coyote a-yelp- 
in’. There is just the creak of your saddle, and 
the thump, thump of your hawse’s hoofs, regular 
and all the time — all the rest is just sky and stars, 
and horizon, round as hoop; and clumps of bear- 
grass, and thistles, with their shadders turned into 
men and beasts and guns and Injuns. Maybe yu 
didn’t see any of them things when yu came along 
here last night?” 

I assured him that I saw all of them. I did not 
tell him that I had felt myself too much a man to 
mention it, but he seemed to read the thought. 

‘T ain’t been a coward since I got big enough to 
know that the devil ain’t no real person, and there 
ain’t no giants in Texas,” he said, sitting lazily in 
his saddle. ‘‘But last night — well, braver men than 
me might have seen things last night on this here 
prairie. The last man I seen, looked at me hostile. 
He wasn’t pleased with me, and the sun went down 
on his hate — that there argues bad for a peaceful 
night. He hadn’t no out and out kick, though, as 
I knowed, and for all the shadders and frightened 
stars, I said to myself there wasn’t no real dangah. 
But shoo! — well, a daid hawss oughen’t to count 
much against a man. But I’d like mighty well to 
know who fired that shot, seh, I shorely would.” 

“You don’t know, then?” 

He looked at me, and his glance was sharp, but 
he resumed lazily: “Seven days ago I thought I 
knowed something — two days ago I knowed I knew 
something — now, I don’t know any of them things. 


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97 


Can you figure that out with your college edju- 
cation 

“You refer to the cattle stealing and the horse 
tracks V 

“I mean them things/’ he affirmed. “Three weeks 
ago I left yu all at the Greyhound. I spent that 
day close to the rivah. I found the tracks made by 
the hawss with a chip off his hoof. I found where 
he went into the watah, and where he came out of 
the watah — on the same side of the rivah ! Yu say, 
why the man on the hawss guided him that 
a- way ?” 

“Because he thought that someone might follow 
his trail, and he wanted to throw them off.” 

His glance was full of disappointment. “I 
thought that myself,” he said. 

I smiled. “Why did he do it, then ?” I asked, and 
was surprised at the very boyishness of his answer. 
He said: 

“I haven’t asked him — ^yet.” 

“Aftah that hawss left the watah,” he resumed, 
after a pause, “he kept in the brush and on the 
grass. He shied at an open spot, like a wolf at a 
trap — smooth dirt didn’t look right to him, which 
ain’t the natural way of a hawss. One time his 
ridah got down and moved a drift log, to keep that 
hawss from steppin’ in dust — I ain’t say in’ why he 
did that. Five miles — about that — he kept on the 
velvut, and the way he turned and doubled to do it 
was mighthy confusin’ at times to figure out. But 
finally he plunged, headlong, into the watah again. 
And he didn’t come out — not on the Terri- 
tory side, nor neither on the Texas side.” 

“He didn’t!” I exclaimed. “Why, then ” 


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He smiled again at my excitement. ‘'Don’t yu 
know, seh, that the Red Rivah is big enough to 
suppoaht an island?” 

“Yes,” I replied, “I saw the island. It is about 
seven miles below the Station. Did he go there?” 

“Yu’re no good judge of distance,” said he. “It’s 
ten, — and the ridah went there. There ain’t nothin’ 
convincin’ about that, — Skunk Island is inhabited.” 

“Yes,” said I, unguardedly, “so I have heard, — 

that is, I heard — I mean, intimations have ” I 

paused. I did not wish to tell him what I had 
heard, and I had, in truth, heard nothing. Red sat 
regarding me intently. He spoke no word to help 
me on. At my pause he resumed : 

“The ridah and the hawss went to that island; I 
seen them — I saw them both. I know the man 
right well, and I ain’t unacquainted with the hawss 
— he’s sixteen hands high, long in the laig, and 
slender at the hock; he’s bay and dark, star, with 
tail to nose, double-eyed, and has lungs like a pipe- 
organ. I had that hawss explained to me, and how 
I kept my face solemn while I told my lies, is one 
of the things I’ll nevah know. Chris explained 
that hawss — him and me have chummed some. He 
ain’t a bad sort. I nevah liked his business, and he 
always liked my girl, but we get on right well to- 
gethah. So I just called on him friendly. We 
walked around and looked at things. Then went 
down to the corral, where we had this talk, Chris 
leadin’ off : 

“ ‘There’s a hawss foah yu. Red, that bay.’ 

“ ‘Ya-ah, but a little thin, ain’t he?’ I says. 

“ ‘Thin? No, just in good travelin’ condition. A 
hawss cayn’t keep his wind in a long run if he’s 
fat.’ 


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99 


'That’s correct/ I says, solemn, 'but he looks 
gaunt. Ain’t got no wolf-teeth, has he?’ 

"Well, seh, yu ought to have heard Chris snort 
at that. He was plum mad ! — and while he was 
lettin’ off cuss words, I edged around until I could 
see the bay’s left hind — there was a chip off it! It 
kind of scared me, seein’ it that a-way, but Chris 
was too hot to notice. He let out something like 
this : 

" 'I alius ’lowed yu knowed something about 
hawses. But gosh a-mighty! Talkin’ about wolf- 
teeth in that thoroughbred! — ^he’s gaunt from hard 
ridin’, that’s all.” 

"'Thoroughbred is he?’ I said sociable then. 'I 
didn’t know yu all went in foah fine stock.’ 

"Chris took a hitch on his caution. 'Oh, we all 
are as liable to pick up a good hawss as anybody,’ 
he says. 

" 'Sure 1’ I says, 'and he’s a fine one, all right, — 
look at the length of that neck! and just squint 
your eye along the taper of them laigs.’ 

"Chris done expanded some under that, and give 
me the measurements of that hawss, and some of 
his pedigree. But I hadn’t allowed to stay all day, 
and so I shut him off with this : 

" 'Wheyah did yu buy him, Chris ?’ And I put 
considerable amount of envy into them words. 

"Chris grinned, he was that pleased. 'He ain’t 
mine,’ he said, plum regretful. 'He belongs to 
Chad, and he won’t so much as let one of us fello’s 
swim the rivah with him.’ 

"Well, seh, when he said them words, I had to 
take out my knife and set to whittlin’ right smart 
to conceal my expression. I knowed my face 


100 


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showed my astonishment through like a window 
light. Here I had three facts : That there was the 
identical hawss that come down Wichita Trail the 
day aftah the cattle stealin’, — Chad Harris was 
ridin' him, because nobody else evah did, — so, then, 
Chad Harris sent them Injuns down to blot out the 
true trail of the stolen cattle.’’ 

I was delighted at his success. I told him so. 
And naturally the fact that guilt rested on this 
man or that man had little effect on me. My 
pleasure was largely in Red’s achievement. But 
my mind went back and picked up the name, Chad 
Harris. 

“Chad Harris,” I said aloud. “I have heard some- 
thing about him, haven’t I?” 

Red’s expression was peculiar as he turned 
toward me. “I reckon yu have,” he said. “He is 
right well known around here.” 

“Yes,” I repeated vaguely. “Oh, doesn’t he buy 
corn ?” 

Red’s gaze held steadily to my face. “I have 
heard of his buyin’ some corn,” he said. 

I laughed. The laugh was at a memory of my 
first day in Texas. I explained it to Red. s 

“I noticed some corn about the Station that first 
day, and I asked your friend Dock what was done 
with it, there being no means of export. He said 
the ranchers fed part and sold part of what they 
raised. But what does the man do with it who 
buys, I insisted. And Dock said, he reckoned that 
was that man’s own business. Afterward I learned 
that it was Chad who bought the corn. Is he the 
man who was playing cards at the table with Sleepy 
that night at the Greyhound?” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


101 


Red nodded. ‘‘He was there.'’ 

“Yes," said I quickly, “and he did not relish 
what you said to hint — I mean about losing sleep." 

Red eyed me. “Yu noticed that, then?" 

“Yes, — but I did not think you did. Had you 
any suspicions then?" 

Red's gaze had returned to the trail. My ques- 
tion was never answered. When he spoke it was 
of our former subject, the corn. 

“One time," he began lazily, “one time a fello’ 
came here from the North and made himself inter- 
ested in what Chad Harris did with the corn he 

bought. He inquired some " I saw, now, that 

Red was watching me, though I kept my face 
steadily front. He repeated: “He inquired some 
around, and then one day, he left the Station and 
went across to the island to see for himself what 
was bein' done with the corn. He nevah came back 
to the Station." 

A shiver ran along my spine in spite of the heat 
of the day. “Killed him, did they?" I asked, and 
made my voice calm. 

“That's on-certain," said Red, lazy again, and 
intent upon the trail. “A little while afterwards 
that fello's relatives came down here, armed with 
suspicions, a detective or two, and three or four 
guns to the man. But Morton quieted them." 

“Morton? Why?" 

“He's a friend of theirs." 

“A friend of the Skunk Island people?" 

“Yes, of they all's gang." 

“What was Morton's story?" I asked eagerly. 

“Story?" Red smiled up quick at me. But he 
spoke in all seriousness. “His story was that he 


102 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


met that man as he was coming back from the 
island, and drove him to his house, where he spent 
the night. He eulogized them all's departed clean 
up to the firmament, and said he was that taken 
with his good qualities that he drove him south to 
the rail-road himself, — ^he proved that, too, by one 
of his hands — Ed, it happened to be." 

‘"Convenient," said I. 

“Yes, and there this about provin’ a thing by a 
fool — if he tells different later on, nobody knows 
which to believe." 

“But Ed never did?" 

“Ya-ah, Morton fired him a while back, and he 
told that Morton hadn't been to the railroad in 
three years." 

This conversation meant much to me, and I 
should have liked to have asked Red many ques- 
tions. But to have done so would have made 
known to him the nature of my business in Texas, 
which could not yet be told. So I strove to 
keep the conversation going, saying quite aim- 
lessly : 

“I suspected that Morton's deeds were not 
always done in the open. His is a peculiar per- 
sonality — he is huge, irritable, irrational, childish, 
and yet a force not to be ignored." 

Red turned in his saddle. My blind stroke had 
fallen on the keynote of his thoughts. 

“Ignored! — no! But I am playing against him 
now. But for him I would have done different. 
Yu see my position? — When I came back to Texas 
aftah I visited at the Island and seen all them things 
I told yu, my plain dooty was to go to Darling and 
tell him what I knowed. Why didn't I? Because 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


103 


of Morton — that’s why ! Morton knows where Tve 
been. No day has passed without him seein’ Dar- 
ling — nobody don’t need to bring me that informa- 
tion. And he’s waitin’ hourly foah my repowt! I 
know him. And he has got the whole story out of 
Darling before this — Darling cayn’t keep things — 
fambly matters slip out on him — so the baby wasn’t 
no surprise. I say a married man ought to have at 
least one private subject. And any man, I say, that 
has no idees of his own, ought to be careful whose 
he takes in. But Darling unloads his mind to Mor- 
ton, — and Morton fills the vacancy up with what 
he thinks Darling ought to have in his head. So, 
then, Morton is Darling, and Darling is Morton, 
and I have just one man to deal with — Morton.” 

‘‘But Morton — who’s he? Well, I know some- 
things inside of me that wasn’t never in no book or 
newspaper, neither was them things ever shaped 
into words and said from any man’s mouth. But I 
know them, the same way, maybe, that yu knowed 
something that you couldn’t say, back yondah. But 
this much has come to the surface, though every- 
body ain’t seen it — Chad Harris owns Morton! I 
don’t begrudge him his possession — I’d rather have 
a beef critter myself. But he owns Morton — that 
there little incident about the corn proves that, if it 
needed provin’. So if I had repowted to Darling, 
then I had repowted to Morton, and if to Morton, 
why, then, to Chad himself! — I’d have saved time 
and horse flesh by goin’ right back to the island and 
tellin’ all I knowed. Yu bein’ a strangah, might 
have made just that mistake. But me — I reckon 
I knowed bettah.” 

“And then there was anothah thing I might have 


104 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


done — I might have taken my information to the 
Station. There’s a gang there waitin’ for it — 
Hawkins and Reynolds, and men with less sense 
than either of them two. What would have hap- 
pened if I had? — murder, seh. Would I do that, 
then ? Would I go huntin’ and slip up on a flock of 
ducks swimmin’ in a pond and talkin’ all their duck- 
talk about the frogs, the moss and the fish, and 
pour shot into them? No, seh, I raise up, and 
when they see me, I let go at them, and take my 
chance right along with theirs. Do I up-wind a 
deer when he’s day-dreamin’ of next season’s joys, 
and pierce his heart with cold lead? I reckon I’d 
quit huntin’ if I’ evah done such a trick. Did I evah 
shoot a rabbit a-sittin’ or an antelope asleep? I 
reckon I nevah did, seh. And wouldn’t I give a 
man the chancet that I would a bird or a beast? 
That’s why I believe in law and civilization, and 
trial by jury — it gives both sides a chancet to prove 
his case. So I didn’t go to Darling, and I didn’t go 
to the Station. I went to Herrington and told the 
sheriff there. He said he had some business needin’ 
attention, but he’d be ready to start in an houah.” 

‘'You did just right,” I said, heartily, “the very 
right thing.” 

“Thank yu,” he said simply. 

“The sheriff will have something of a fight on his 
hands, won’t he?” I asked. 

Red gave no attention to my words. We were at 
the very highest point of the divide, and his gaze 
was on the trail as it lay ahead of us, forever like 
a slack twine across a table. He seemed alert now, 
in every nerve and muscle, and I noticed a scowl 
beneath the sweat on his brow. His words, too, 
when he spoke, came quick. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


105 


''I'd like to clear up one thing in this fight, and 
that's the shootin' of my horse last night. That 
there's personal. If I only knew who did that 
thing." 

"It was one of those Islanders," said I. 

"There is one," said he to this. "Logan his name 
is, Zant Logan, though it ought to be 'Slant,' for 
his forehead dodges back right sudden from his 
eyebrows. Him and me have had some trouble 
ovah at the Station, but nevah nothin' serious. And 
we've had trouble at dances, here and there, but 
nothin' serious again. He always drinks and he 
always fights. I have saved his life several times, 
and several times I have taken my own right off 
the end of his revolver. He's afraid of me now," 
he added, with no trace of pride. 

I wondered what this young cow-puncher would 
call serious trouble. I said, "It's a little trick to 
shoot a man's horse. No one but a coward would 
do it." 

To this he made no immediate response. Again 
his gaze was steady on the trail. Was he thinking 
again of his lonely ride? Truly it had impressed 
him more deeply than it had me. His nature re- 
ceived and gave deeper impress than mine did. 
What had produced awe in me had produced awe 
in him, but also a thought deeper than awe. He 
must know why he felt as he did, and what the 
result of the feeling might be. Nothing was of no 
importance to him, not even his own feelings, sen- 
sations and thoughts ; while many things, including 
these three, were of little moment to me. So I 
found that I had come, on this ride, to envy him his 
knowledge, while he envied me my education. 


106 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


''That man at the rivah last night, spoke to me,’’ 
said Red, breaking the silence at last. "He spoke, 
and I didn’t know his voice. If it had been Chad, 
I’d have known his voice. It wasn’t him. But 
Logan — Zant Logan has a voice for occasions. 
When he is drunk, he is chesty and base of voice; 
when he is natural, he’s squeaky and raspy on the 
nerves; when he is scar-it ” 

There he paused, sitting idly in his saddle, yet 
seeming as tense in every muscle as a tiger ready 
to spring. I was left to guess, if I could, how Logan 
talked when frightened. For when Red spoke 
again his thoughts had traveled back to the Brazos, 
and it was night. I could not have been far behind 
him, for he described things thus : 

"The prairie broke up all of a sudden, and long, 
black arms of the valley reached out toward me. 
The shadders that had been follerin’ me all night, 
raced ahead and disappeared into a world that was 
all shadders. Sounds came up from the blackness 
— the or-chestra of frogs and toads and insects, 
struck up on the last tune of the night. Some- 
where, a long ways off, a rooster crowed. I was 
glad for all of them sounds, and especially that 
there rooster, — I felt, when I heard him, like I’d 
been on a long journey and was gettin’ back to the 
land of my own kind. And so I was — it proves a 
truth, too. All night I’d been ridin’ in a strange 
world, peopled with unfamiliar things, but none of 
them had hurt me none. Now I came back to 
man’s dominion and got shot at! See there! — 
Man’s worst enemy is man.” 

I nodded, and he resumed: 

"Well, the roostah crowed and I passed into the 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


107 


blackness, ridin’ on a walk, but a lively one, foah a 
prairie hawss don't like timber much of night time. 
I seen the rivah — just a ripple of light there was 
on it from the stars. The great or-chestra blazed 
out in a grand fina-lee, and hung up their harps, 
leavin' my ears ringin'. Then was when my hawss 
stopped. And when I spoke to him he did not go 
on. In another second a man's voice said, kind of 
insultin' like; 

'Coin' to Herrington ?' 

'' 'Yes, seh,' I said, 'to Herrington.' 

" 'Well,' said he, and his tone was more insultin’ 
than his words, 'I'm bound the othah way. Yu left 
the road, I reckon?' 

" 'I left the trail, seh,' I said again, to the black- 
ness. 

" 'What yu all goin' to Herrington foah so early 
in the mawnin'?' he asked then. 

"That made me kind of hot, but I took pains to 
speak polite. 'I'm down on business, seh,' I says. 

" 'Oh, well, yu needn't to get hot about it,’ he 
fired out. 'I don't care a cuss what you're down 
foah.' 

" 'Your pawden, seh,' I said, and started my 
hawss. But he wasn't done talkin', and stopped 
me. 

" 'Well, then, as yu can be half civil,' he says, 
'I'll tell yu that the bridge is on-safe — I got that in- 
formation in town, so swum my hawss. I thought 
yu all might miss the signal, it's so dark in the 
timbah.' 

"I was surprised plumb out of my wits, I reckon, 
for I believed his lie, and thanked him for it. Then 
I rode down to the bank and urged my hawss into 


108 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


the watah. As he forged out, and, losing his feet, 
swung down stream in the current, I heard a thun- 
dah of hoofs on the bridge ovahhead — then a bullet 
spat in the watah beside me and a revolver report 
sounded. 

‘'I understood then ! — the trick, the damnable 
trick, to get me into the rivah, where Fd be an easy 
mark on the surface of the watah, and where my 
body would float far from the place of the crime. 
Ya-ah, I understood, and I dropped oflf my hawss, 
lettin’ my body into the watah and keepin' tight 
against his side. Bullet aftah bullet fell, droppin’ 
into the rivah with a little hiss, and too close foah 
comfort. I held my revolver clear of the wet, but 
it was no use to shoot, for the coward had chosen 
his position well — the dark of the timbah hid him 
better than a house. Then suddenly, my horse 
reared and plunged. He pawed the watah frantic- 
ally, and then sank — he was hit vital, and I was 
busy keepin’ out of his way. But I realized that I 
was an easy mark then, so I dived, came up, and 
dived again, cornin’ up neah the bank. I dived a 
third time, and then had to crawl to shore, for I 
was as weak as a kitten. I looked foah that man 
in town. But I reckon he knowed bettah than to 
risk that. I was plum surprised when I met yu.” 

‘"Oh,” I said, and forced a weak laugh. And 
then I said a very foolish thing: “Of course, you 
know. Red, that I didn’t shoot your horse.” 

“Suppose,” he said, quick and sharp, and then 
stopped himself to add leisurely, “Justice is handi- 
capped in two ways — it cayn’t take what a man 
knows as evidence, unless he can say he seen it, or 
heard it. And it cayn’t distinguish between a lie 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


109 


and the truth when both are sworn to on a Bible. 
And civilization — what yu call society — is just like 
justice. If yu had of been in my place, and had 
found me in town with a tired hawss and no excuse 
foah bein’ there but a telegraph wire, yu would 
have had me arrested foah shootin’ at yu. Civiliza- 
tion blunts a man’s sensibilities — he gets so he 
don’t know things inside himself. I don’t want to 
get too civilized evah.” 

I could not deny the assertion. I sat, smiling at 
him, glad in truth that he was not too civilized. He 
sat supinely in his saddle, under the sweltering heat 
of the noonday sun, while I, watching him, became 
more and more amazed at the experience through 
which he had just passed. It had not ruffled his 
composure — then surely nothing could. He cer- 
tainly was accustomed to such things from birth — 
such was my mental verdict. 

Our horses jogged on and on. Red seemed to 
have forgotten me. His gaze was steadily ahead, 
and his hat was drawn down to his very brows. 
His expression was set and expectant — I have 
seen a cat sit so for hours, watching the hole of a 
gopher. But I could see nothing on which Red 
could fix his gaze — there was only the yellow glare 
of the sun on the endless winding trail until it was 
lost at last in waves of liquid heat, where were 
mingled heaven and earth in bays, and lakes, and 
rivers of sky. 

I mopped by brow. The perspiration, which had 
been trickling down my face in streams, had at last 
found its way into my eyes. There was no breeze 
to dry it off. My horse was reeking wet and 
odorous, and growing white at flank and brisket. I 


no 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


mopped my brow again, and the movement at- 
tracted Red’s attention. 

'This here heat,” he said, "will likely bring a 
storm.” 

"I wish it would hurry, then,” I said. "When a 
man has been up all night, like I was — and you, too, 
— heat like this is a strong argument for sleep.” 

"And if yu had taken whiskey,” said Red, his 
gaze gone back to the distant horizon, "yu likely 
could not set your hawss about now. And if your 
work was done, and your mind, aftah a lot of ex- 
citement, had nothing of consequence in it, — that 
would be big argument foah sleep.” 

"It would, indeed,” I replied, wonderingly. "You 
have had enough excite ” 

But he had stopped his horse, and now demanded 
that I stay there. As he started forward, I saw, in 
the distance, a speck of black, like something 
washed ashore by the running waves of heat. What 
was it — a horse? Yes, but there was no one on it. 
What was the matter with Red, anyway? When 
he was some distance ahead, I started my horse and 
slowly followed him. 

True to the instinct of the plainsman. Red left 
the trail and riding around, approached the horse 
from the opposite direction. I halted again, but 
was now near enough to discern a dark object in 
the shadow of the horse, — a man, undoubtedly. 
Red approached slowly and cautiously, but his 
strategy seemed useless, for neither horses nor man 
saw or heeded his presence. 

Seeing no disturbance, I went nearer and took 
in the significance of the scene at a glance: The 
horse stood, dead tired, on his feet, and merely 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


111 


lifted his eyelids; the man lay in heavy bluestem, 
his face flushed and bloated, breathing heavily. A 
whiskey flask, evidently propped with some pains 
against a tuft of grass, as a child might place a toy 
at night, was right in range with the last glance of 
the man’s sleep-laden eyes. 

These things told the story — all there was to tell. 
The man had not slept; all night he had sat in his 
saddle, straining every nerve, alert in every fibre of 
his being, watching every couve ahead, fearful of 
every shadow behind, until the tension of his mind 
and body was like that of the strings of a tuned 
instrument. Then, his task ended, he had retraced 
his steps. And the sun had done its work; the 
whiskey flask came out, the weary pony lagged 
more and more in his gait, and at last the man 
yielded to the drugging power of sleep. He had 
made a fight; for weary miles he fought off the 
inevitable, — I knew this, and Red knew it. And 
but for the whiskey, he had won. With it — well, 
there he lay. 

Red motioned me to stop. He got down, and 
cautiously adjusted knots and a noose in his rope, 
then stealthily approached the sleeper. I watched 
him, fascinated. Was this his man? He certainly 
thought so. He arranged his rope about the sleeper 
with infinite pains ,and then darted a quick hand 
for his revolver. At the first touch the man was 
awake and on his feet. But Red had the re- 
volver out of its holster — he flung it aside in the 
grass, and at the same instant drew up the rope, 
pinning the man by the feet with a swiftness that 
sent him sprawling on his face. But it was not 
so easy. With the agility of a cat the man was 


112 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


turned over, a knife was out, and the rope severed 
as with a razor. The two faced each other, not 
five paces apart, each pale, each realizing that a 
false move meant death — the one armed with a re- 
volver, the other with a knife. A moment passed. 

‘‘So it's yu, yu cur," the man panted. 

Red did not reply. His revolver was aimed at 
the fellow's temple. 

“A bullet cayn't pierce your leather hide, eh?" 
the man sneered. “So now I'll try this knife — I'll 
make hash out of yu, yu red-headed son-of-a " 

“Don't say that word unless yu want to die 
now, seh," said Red steadily. 

“I say I'll make hash out of your heart!" 
The words hissed as they issued from his lips. 
Red's reply came cold and clear, like the ring of 
pure steel: 

“Drop that knife ! Drop it !" Red's gaze flashed 
along the barrel of his revolver straight into the eye 
of his foe. “A bullet can travel faster than yu can, 
seh. Drop that knife — One — two — Drop it, seh !" 

“I'll make — I'll make — hash — I " But the 

unfaltering gaze of the eye behind the gun was too 
much. His fingers relaxed — the knife fell and 
slipped from sight in the bluestem. 

“Now take four steps to the right — four. Ready 
— one — step! One — two — That's right, seh! Now 
just take up that rope and loop it ovah your hand 
for a bracelet — that's good ! — Now, I'll just fix the 
othah hand foah yu." 

Red adjusted the rope with amazing celerity. 
And at once his hands were fast, the man began to 
struggle and roar. 

“Coward! You're a coward!" he raged. “Creep 
up on a sleepin’ man, like a snake." 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


113 


Red answered him. 

‘'That reminds me/’ he said, busy with his rope. 
‘T enjoyed my bath right well this mawnin’, 
Logan.” 

Logan’s face purpled with rage. “Curse your 
leather hide!” he roared. “Curse your Kentucky 
nigger breed 1” 

Red did not reply to the insulting words. 

“Half-bloods! — every man of yu!” Logan con- 
tinued, knowing well that his words cut deep. 

Red led Logan’s horse around. “Now yu just 
mount your hawss,” he said. 

Logan flatly refused. “Never, if I rot here!” 

Red leveled his revolver again, and made threats. 
He counted, but all to no purpose. Logan did not 
heed his threats — he would not look at him. He 
divined something of the chivalrous nature of his 
captor, and knew that he would not be shot down 
when bound any more than he had been slain while 
asleep. So he stood stoical as a martyr and steadily 
refused to move. I got down, hoping to be of as- 
sistance to Red. He seemed not to be aware of my 
presence, but laid his gun down, and in a tone of 
resignation spoke to his prisoner. 

“All right, then, seh. I’ll just loop a pair of 
bracelets on your laigs and leave yu here. The 
sheriff of this here country will be along in a couple 
of hours — yu can wait here foah him. I reckon 
you’d rathah travel in the official train.” 

Logan started as if struck. “The sheriff!” he 
gasped. “You don’t mean — oh, you damned cur! 
The sheriff — good God ! — oh, your black heart !” 

“Now don’t go and heat yourself up cussin’ of 
me, seh,” said Red amicably. “It’s a hot day, yu 
know, and your whiskey is gettin’ low on yu.” 


114 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘To blazes with the whiskey 

“Yes, seh. But now you’ve got your choice — 
rathah wait here, seh?” 

Logan moved at once to his horse. He permitted 
Red to assist him to mount, and to lash him to the 
saddle. Red passed the rope through the bridle 
bit and then made it fast to the pommel of his own 
saddle. And having mounted, he turned in his 
seat and shading his eyes with a hand, looked 
long and intently south. 

“I don’t see nothin’ of the sheriff and his party,” 
said he to me, “but he cayn’t be far back.” 

“No, not very far,” said I positively. 

Our words had the desired effect on Logan, 
for when we urged our horses to a gallop, Logan 
kept his up with us, and we made good time for an 
hour or more. But toward evening my horse be- 
came pitifully tired, and Logan’s, for all his urging, 
lagged heavily on the rope. Red’s mount, having 
made but the one trip, was in good condition, and 
he could have pushed on all night. But with Logan, 
a stop was imperative, and I urged Red to make 
across to Halloway’s for the night. He consented 
reluctantly and considered one advantage only — 
that it was off the trail, and a place where we were 
in little danger of an attack by Logan’s friends. 
In my inexperience I had not thought of that possi- 
bility. 

It was nearly midnight when we reached the 
Halloway home, as we traveled the greater distance 
at a walk. I called Gabe to feed the horses, and 
as our hunger was forgotten in weariness, I took 
both Red and his prisoner to my room for the night. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A FAIR SPECIMEN. 

“Birch!’’ I called. “Oh, Birch!” 

“Hyah!” she answered, in a suppressed voice. 
“What is it?” 

I laughed at her eagerness. “What made you 
think it anything important?” I asked, wondering if 
she had heard. 

“I knew by the way yu called. Tell me — quick !” 

I whispered a word and watched her eyes shine. 

“Sure enough?” 

“A sure enough cowboy,” I stated. 

“Whyah?” She peeped apprehensively over my 
shoulder. 

“He came in last night — with me.” 

“Is he — does he look very dreadful?” 

I assured her that he did, and that he was more 
dreadful even than he looked. In truth I was very 
anxious to bring about a meeting between my two 
young friends, and yet I was a little jealous of her 
certain delight in him — you may understand my 
feeling in the matter better than I can explain it 
to you. Miss Birch had never seen a cowboy. At 
least she had never seen anything resembling the 
written, pictured, or described cowboy. But those 
things are so misleading generally, that she had 
likely seen and never recognized the real flesh and 
blood article. Red would not approach Birch’s pre- 
conceived idea of a Texas cowboy by anything, but 


116 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


what he lacked of the desperado he made up in 
handsomeness — I told the girl that it was a charm- 
ing specimen that I had brought in for her inspec- 
tion. I told her, too, of his prisoner, and of the 
capture. Her eyes were very round. 

'‘If yu don’t let me see him, I will scold yu foah 
fouah days,” she declared, that being her favorite 
punishment for me. 

"I will bring him right up here,” I declared. 

"Oo-oo !” She drew back. "Whyah had I bettah 
go — to the top of the house?” 

"Is your vision clearer in a rare atmosphere?” I 
asked sarcastically. 

"No-o, but — why, he must not know I am look- 
ing at him. I can see him nicely from the attic 
window. I will run ” 

She started, but I stopped her. "Do you suppose 
I am going to put a rope on him and lead him up 
here as if he were a horse?” I asked. "He will 
naturally do as he pleases and go where he wants 
to go. He will have his prisoner ” 

"I will not stay hyah,” she declared. "I do not 
want to see him, anyway, — I hate him.” 

I was amazed, and yet secretly pleased. But I 
became sarcastic again. 

"You are afraid of him,” I declared. 

"I am not, eithah. I expect to see a great num- 
bah of cowboys when my -school begins, — they are 
not all like this one.” 

"Indeed, they are not all like this one,” I de- 
clared warmly. "You will never meet a more gen- 
tlemanly cowboy in Texas.” 

Her eyes shone. "Then why — yu just said that 
he lassooed a man he met on the trail,” she stated 
with spirit. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


117 


‘'Yes, but the man is a thief — a cattle thief — Red 
thinks he is/^ 

“Oh! And he captured him without wounding 
him at all? How brave he must be. Is he big — 
tall, I mean? Whyah were yu?’’ 

“I was there,’' said I, realizing for the first time 
that I had played a decidedly minor part in the 
affair, and one that she was not apt to appreciate. 
“I was there — on my horse.” 

She gave me a glance. “And yu let him do it all 
alone? I am wild to see him. I will wait hyah — 
or on the porch, hadn’t I bettah ?” 

I said, “Yes, on the porch, I think. I will go 
now, or he will have had breakfast, and escape us 
both. You do not want to meet him, do you?” 

''Meet himf 

“Yes, — an introduction.” 

“I ? — the idea 1” Her eyes flashed. 

“I’ll wager you do when you see him,” I de- 
clared. 

And then I left her to go in search of Red, and 
to bring him, if possible, to where Miss Birch could 
see him, and not be seen. I found him saddling up. 
I assisted him. 

“Whose house did yu say this is ?” he asked with- 
out interest. “Who is livin’ here?” 

“Don’t you know?” I asked joyfully. 

“Reckon I don’t.” 

“It is Halloway’s.” 

He shook his head. 

“Halloway,” I repeated, “the new-comer.” 

“Sure enough?” Interest shone in his eye. “And 
the schoolma’am, sure enough now?” 

His gaze swept the premises in one rapid, com- 


118 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


prehensive glance, until it rested on the upper story 
of the house, visible above intervening shrubbery, 
where it stopped and staid. 

"‘She — Miss Hollaway is a friend of mine,” I 
said. ‘‘I mean they are all old friends. I did not 
know it until I got here.” 

‘'And yu are workin’ — stayin’ — livin’ here?” 
There was mild surprise in his tone. 

“All three,” I responded. 

“Yu are in luck,” he said, and his tone was crisp. 

“I am, indeed,” I replied, and then added, “You 
understand. Red, how I — well, you know, I don’t 
like to think of how you — ^you fellows at the Grey- 
hound ” 

“Best nevah let your mind dwell on what yu 
happen to heah at the Greyhound,” he replied, busy 
with a cinch, and then straightening up. “But 
there won’t be any new material added, if that is 
what yu are gettin’ at.” 

That was what I was getting at, and I thanked 
him. He resumed his work, and I thought that he 
had lost interest, and I was busy trying to devise 
some plan, when he abruptly stepped close to me, 
and in a low tone asked : 

“Is she — was Morton stringin’ us on her looks?” 
His eye was eager. 

“I did not hear Morton’s words, but Miss Hallo- 
way is quite beyond his descriptive powers,” I said 
loyally. “If you ” 

But he did not let me finish. “Reckon I’ll get a 
look foah myself this mawnin’?” he asked, with a 
boyish grin. “Reckon she’ll be nosin’ out this 
early ?” 

“She would if she knew what a dashing sight 
awaited her,” I declared. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


119 


He walked at once to his prisoner and began a 
careful rearrangement of the rope. I wondered if 
my compliment had offended him. If I had — ^but 
surely not. I stood watching him, and when he 
had finished he came with swift strides to my side. 

‘‘Yu just guide my faulterin’ feetsteps,’^ he said, 
grinning, and gazing at the house. 

I stood perplexed. If I only could think of some 
pretext — of something to show to him. 

He stood waiting, and in the interval hitched up 
his chaps and felt of the knot in the handkerchief 
at his throat. I looked at him and laughed, 

“Red,’’ said I, “you are a kid.” 

“I’m man size, seh,” he answered soberly; “hat 
seven and a quartah and boot eight and a half.” 

“But you don’t look a bit like she is expecting 
you to look,” I replied unguardedly. 

“I— is she ” 

“No, no! But she has never seen one.” 

He regarded me calmly. “Yu make me a-most 
bashful,” he drawled. Then added: “So she’s got 
exaggerated notions about us wild cowboys? Well, 
now, if I had of knowed — ^but,” with a sly nod 
toward his prisoner, “the two of us will make a 
fair specimint, eh?” 

I laughed and he moved to his horse and mounted 
with a boyish bound. 

“Let’s move out where we can get fair aim,” said 
he. 

I shook my head. Then I had a thought — almost 
an inspiration. 

“You will want to see the Colonel,” I cried. “You 
will want to thank Col. Hallo way before you go.” 

“Yu are dead right,” he replied gravely. “I was 


120 


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right near to forgettin’ my raisin’. His niggers has 
treated me white, all right.” 

‘‘Come on, then,” I cried joyfully, and led the 
way to the front gate. I left Red and his captive 
there, while I went in search of the Colonel. Birch 
was standing just inside the door. Her eyes, when 
they met mine, were black diamonds. 

“He is handsome ! — ^how could yu tell em that he 
was dreadful ?” She caught my arm and held it in 
her excitement. 

“A man does not ” I began, but she bounded 

ahead of me, stopping both my steps and my words. 
Col. Halloway had entered the hall, and she led him 
to the door. 

“Look, fathah, — out thyah! A cowboy! See? 
Isn’t he handsome ? Oo-oo, he has spuahs !” 

Col. Halloway looked at Red, then at his pris- 
oner. He cleared his throat and regarded his daugh- 
ter with keen eye. 

“He — the young man wishes to thank you. 
Colonel,” I said quickly, “for your hospitality.” 

“Ah! The Colonel reached for his hat. “I 
scarcely expected — ^yes.” He went out. 

“I am going with fathah,” said Birch, with both 
hands busy adjusting hairpins. “I may — it will be 
all right. I must see — I mean — are yu coming?” 

“We will go out on the porch, then.” I was so 
surprised at her manner that I was near remon- 
strating with her for doing what I wished her to do. 

“The porch? — yes.” She tied a scarf of silvery 
gauze over her hair, for what purpose I know not 
— she ordinarily went about with nothing at all on 
her head. But the scarf, over her dark hair, blazed 
in unison with her eyes, and made her look like 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


121 


some Oriental princess in whom coquetry vied with 
imperial dignity. 

At the steps leading down from the porch we 
paused. I saw Red lift his eyes, and felt a thrill 
go over the girl, whose arm I had taken to arrest 
her steps. 

She gave me a glance — it was like a sudden flash 
from a fierce hot furnace. She drew her arm free. 

‘‘The porch will not do” she said, in an excited 
undertone. ''I must go closer. I want to see — to 
see — I want to see his prisoner.’’ 

Poor Birch, she was almost beside herself in her 
desire to see '^the prisoner.” I let her go — I well 
knew that I could do nothing else. And she de- 
scended the steps and walked, with all the grace of 
royalty, to her father’s side. 

I followed, and saw a pulse of triumph shoot 
across Red’s face, and leave in its wake a flush of 
deep crimson. I saw his chest heave as he drew 
breath, but he did not take his gaze from the girl — 
he seemed to ravish in her beauty and sweetness; 
while she, half-concealed by her father’s form, 
looked at the cow-puncher, dropped her gaze, 
clasped her hands, and bravely looked again. 

Red sat in his saddle, holding himself as rigid as 
a statue. I never saw him look more irresistibly 
handsome; he had added no makeshift, as the girl 
had for the occasion, but the power of his un- 
tarnished manhood was around him like a halo. His 
words to the Colonel were few now, and tardy, and 
his eyes held to the girl’s face as though his gaze 
was eternally fixed by a sculptor. Therefore, to 
help him out, I gave my attention to Col. Halloway, 
and made known to him a sudden desire to accom- 


122 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


pany Red to the Station, who, I informed the 
Colonel, had similarly befriended me on the trip 
up from Herrington. He assented readily, assert- 
ing that it was ‘‘Just the thing to do, boy; just the 
thing.” 

I passed delighted word to Red, and ran and 
fetched my horse. When I rejoined Red, the Colonel 
had gone into the house and his daughter had gone 
with him. Of what was said during my absence I 
learned very little — that little was spoken by Red 
when we were about an hour on our way to the 
Station. He broke the silence that had held us, 
abruptly with these words : 

“I spoke to her — and she answered me back.” 

“I could not introduce you,” said I, making un- 
necessary excuse. “I do not know your name.” 

“Red is good enough foah me,” he stated posi- 
tively. “If folks don’t like me as Red they’d nevah 
as Mistah Somebody.” 

“I think,” I ventured slyly, “that ‘they’ liked you 
without even the ‘Red.’ ” 

He grinned at me. “I’ve seen girls here and 
there — some of them purty and some not; some of 
them fair, and some like — no, none like ” 

He drew a deep breath as he paused, and raised 
his face full to the bright morning sun. When he 
resumed speaking it was upon another subject. 

“I told yu yesterday that I have done things I 
ain’t proud of, and that’s straight. And then again, 
I have done some things I ain’t ashamed of by a 
mile. But my folks — if they knowed I had been to 
Halloway’s this a-way” — he looked down at his 
gun, chaps and spurs — “dressed like this, they’d be 
plumb ashamed of me. They don’t like the way I 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


123 


dress, or the way I act; the way I talk don't suit 
them, or the things I say. They commenced takin' 
exceptions to me as soon as I got big enough to 
comb my own hair, and them exceptions kept in- 
creasin' until they got so numerous around ouah 
house that I was just naturally crowded out of it." 
He paused and looked at me speculatively. ‘‘Maybe 
your mothah and sistah took them exceptions to 
you oncet — likely they didn't. Maybe you love 
your mothah moah to-day than I do, but I reckon 
yu don't." 

“Possibly not," I said. “The love of a child for 
a mother — it takes a calamity to make us know the 
depth of it." 

“That's correct." He made a wide motion with 
a hand. “I love my mothah more than anything — 
why. I'd give up all my hopes if it would do heah 
any good foah me to. But foah listening all day to 
a string of corrections — foah readin' all evenin' of 
the things dead men did and tryin' to look like my 
grandfathah's picture, — well, I ain’t that kind." 

“This life I am leadin' of ain't makin' a polished 
gentleman out of me — I know that," he resumed 
after a pause, during which he took a hitch in 
Logan's rope. “But folks about here will tell yu 
that I am a good cowboy, and I have got the qualifi- 
cations to back up that statement. I ain't pretend- 
in' to be something I ain't. I ain't beginnin' on a 
wornout foundation. No, seh. I'm beginnin' down 
on solid rock, and I'm goin' up." 

There was another pause — a long one, during 
which our horses shuffled on, stirring the dust till 
it hung like a thick fog about our boots. The rope 
on Logan's horse grew tighter and tighter, dragging 


124 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


back on Red’s saddle. ‘^Spur up a bit, Zant,” he 
called back, and then immediately resumed his talk. 

‘‘I go home now and then,” he said uncon- 
cernedly, ‘'and every time I go I get them correc- 
tions. I get told how low, vulgah and contemptible 
I am, and how all my friends are villains, cut- 
throats and worse savages. I get told how I have 
disgraced and humiliated my family, until — well, I 
don’t go very often,” he finished sadly. 

The horses shuffled on, the dust began to stick 
to our sweaty faces, and the rope on Logan’s horse 
was taut as a fiddle string. This time Red turned 
in his saddle and spoke sharply to his prisoner. 
“Cayn’t yu spur up there? What’s the use of 
laggin’ back?” 

“Maybe I don’t see things right. Maybe I ain’t 
old enough yet to get the right perspective on life. 
But take the case of a boy I knowed oncet. He 
had a good home — a fine home. He had a sistah 
oldah than him — three years oldah. She was train- 
in’ up to be a mothah, playin’ with dolls and doin’ 
things about the house. He was trainin’ up to be 
a man, doin’ things outside, buildin’ things with 
whatever material he could pick up. Well, what he 
made was trash and was used for kindlin’ — what 
she made was cute and purty, and was showed to 
callers. Was that right? She had young friends 
come to see her, and she entertained them in the 
parlor with cakes and candy ; boys came to see him, 
too, but he had to take the ‘young ruffians’ to the 
baahn, with nevah a cooky. What about that? And, 
as the fambly grew, he was crowded into the attic 
to sleep, and all his ‘trash’ was heaved up there 
aftah him, — nobody made his bed. She was given 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


125 


the best room in the house. Nothin’ he did was 
right ; everything she did was lovely. He was given 
the poorest piece of the roast at table — if anything 
ran out, he missed his helpin’. He was scolded if 
he did not come in early of evenin’s ; if he did come 
early he was nagged at and finally sent to bed in 
disgrace.” Red paused and smiled at me. ‘'Maybe 
yu don’t see what I’m gettin’ at. But see here — 
humanity craves liberty and equality. Look at this 
great country of ouahs ! What is denied a child is 
what that child craves, and will have, unless his 
mind is put on something else. When I was told 
not to say ‘knowed’ foah 'knew,’ I tried hard to 
remembah not to say it wrong. But when it was 
harped into my ears constantly that I always said 
'knowed,’ then I did say it, and I say it yet. My 
language fits my calling — I’m a cowboy, and I talk 
like one. Some day I will be a gentleman, and then, 
I hope, I will speak like a gentleman. But this is 
what I want to tell yu now. If evah I have the 
bringin’ up of a son, he will have what he needs and 
have it right in my house. Nothin’ in there will be 
too good foah him — his ways won’t be too rough 
foah me.” 

"You have the right idea,” I said. "I have 
noticed cases like ” 

Red gave me a glance. His eyes were blazing. 
I noticed that Logan was lagging heavily on the 
rope. Red rode around behind him. "Yu’ll go 
ahead now,” he said, and drove Logan’s horse up 
the trail. 

"Yu can take the dust, then,” said Logan, with a 
sneer. 

"I will, seh.” 


126 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Thus we rode on to the Station, under a baking 
sun. Sometimes we talked of our boyhood days, 
more often we were silent. It was a hard day for 
all. Our horses were tired and the heat and dust 
almost intolerable. But at dusk we were near 
enough to the Station to see the light shining from 
the door of the Greyhound. As we neared the 
place Red said: 

''One funny thing Til tell yu now — I wouldn't 
have my mothah a bit different than she is. She 
hates all this — guns, cattle and the killin' of men — 
she hates it all ! And so do I. But it ain't what I 
like that is foah me — never has been. It's what I 
can to make some money. And so to-night " 

He took his revolver and examined it carefully, 
then placed it in the front of his shirt. Likewise, he 
inspected the weapon which he had taken from 
Logan, and placed it in the holster at his belt. 
Then, riding close to Logan, he struck his horse a 
sharp cut of the whip, and bending low in our 
saddles we passed like fleeing shadows into town. 


CHAPTER VII. 

AT THE GREYHOUND. 

Inside of the Greyhound saloon hilarity reigned. 
Hawkins was there, round, friendly Dock, Rey- 
nolds and Darling, but I looked in vain for Morton. 
There were more cowboys in than had been at my 
former visit, and they seemed of a different class — 
more on the desperado order. I learned that they 
were from the Llano Estacado — mostly from a 





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Cowboys Killin’ Time.— Page 126. 










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TPIE UPPER TRAIL 


127 


ranch where the proprietor thoughtfully paid his 
men in advance, so they could have the use of their 
money — they might not be there at the end of the 
month ! 

''The ownah of R2 is that just a man that he . 
won’t be owin’ no dead man money,” said my in- 
formant. 

"Yes, but a man might go and hire, and then 
pull out,” said I, thinking I was showing great 
penetration. 

"He might,” said the man knowingly, "but he 
nevah would feel right safe again in the State of 
Texas.” 

So I pu R2 down in my mind as one of 
the really bad places, and went on into the card 
room. It was filled to its utmost capacity with cow- 
boys,- and sprinkled among them were Spaniards 
from the border country and from the Llano Esta- 
cado. They were not playing cards. Already a 
whisper had passed around that a cowboy had come 
in with a man bound in ropes. They wanted to see 
this cowboy and to hear his story of the fight and 
capture ; they bore me with them back to the bar- 
room. As I went I heard Red’s voice. 

He was telling his story — telling it to Dock. And 
he was proud in the telling. He had said to me 
that he was a good cowboy, and at this new evi- 
dence of worth, his voice rang with conscious pride. 
Ashamed he might be of the wild life he led, and 
well aware that he was not training himself in the 
way to grace a lad3^’s bower. But of his success he 
was not ashamed. And as his audience increased, 
which it did rapidly, he raised his voice, that all 
might hear of his achievement. As he told of his 


128 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


search for the true trail of the cattle, his question- 
ing of the Indians, his stealthy uncovering of the 
tracks along the river, and his final discovery of 
Chad’s horse on the island, his face glowed and his 
body swayed as if he lived the scenes over again ; 
his tone swelled, or was subdued almost to a whis- 
per. No trained actor could have told the story 
better than did this untutored boy of the plains tell 
it to his audience of cowboys, ranchers and Span- 
iards. He swayed me, he stirred my blood, he had 
me breathless while he hunted; he held me fascin- 
ated with his victory — I could scarcely control my 
enthusiasm. But in the others he stirred no blood. 
They listened unconcernedly and let him finish 
without question. 

I was surprised. The recital was eloquent 
enough, even if it had been fiction, to have aroused 
to action these fiery Texans, I thought. That they 
could listen to it and remain as stoically silent as so 
many Indian braves was revelation to me. But 
this is a truth which I unearthed that night, and I 
give it to you as an unpolished gem. It is the over- 
civilized that are excitable of temper and indiscreet 
of act ; the man of the frontier is deliberate, 
cautious, viewing all sides before he moves. Per- 
haps Red knew this. Perhaps he preferred that 
they ask for what they cared to know further. At 
any rate, he stopped short at the finding of the 
horse. And I, fearing that their lack of appreci- 
ation of his work had hurt him into silence, thought 
to enlighten the crowd. But he stopped me with a 
look. And again, after a few remarks about the 
weather, feed, and the lack of rain had been passed, 
I started out to tell of the capture of Logan, but 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


129 


was silenced by a quick glance from Red, and a 
half turn of the head. I gave up and held my 
peace. While I was holding it, Morton came in. 

The news of the capture of Logan was told him 
before he entered, for he was very red of face and 
all of a fluster when I saw him. He took no notice 
of Red, and spoke no open word at once, but called 
man after man aside and told him, in a lot of breath 
and many gestures, that it was all a mistake — a 
big, rotten mistake. Red was in his employ, when 
this fool notion took him, but the young fool had 
not said a word about it — not a word ! — he hadn't 
seen the red-headed idiot, in fact. Of course, there 
wasn't a thing to it ! — not a thing, b' gin ! And now 
you call some of the boys aside and tell 'em I told 
you so, and we'll end this little show right here! — 
we'll stop it right to-night ! 

And so Morton went his rounds. Each listened 
respectfully to him until he came to Hawkins. They 
clashed at once. Hawkins took his stand ‘Tor the 
sake of argument. Major," at first. But later, and 
most oratorically put, “for the sake of law and right, 
and the rising generation." 

Morton, suave and tactful for a time, held his 
temper. “That's all right, Hawkins," he made a 
deep courtesy, “that's all right, my dear sir. You 
think just as you please about the rising gener- 
ation. But this is my business — my business^ mark 
you! This young jackass is in my employ. See? 
He is my cowboy — my man — supposed to be acting 
under my orders. See? But did he? Did he, 
Hawkins? You know that he didn't. And now I 
repudiate — yes, repudiate is the word, Mr. Haw- 
kins, — I repudiate everything he's done. Every 
word he says!" 


130 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


'^No, you don’t repudiate anything!” roared Haw- 
kins, drawing back from Morton. ‘'You can’t. It 
ain’t your affair. It’s the affair of this neighbor- 
hood. It’s mine. It’s Darling’s. It’s everybody’s. 
And what does everybody say about it ? What does 
everybody want done?” 

“Everybody?” Morton roared his disgust. 
“Why, b’ gin, Hawkins, this ain’t anybody’s busi- 
ness but mine. It’s my affair, man. One of my 
hands started out and did a lot of dirt to friends of 
mine. Shouldn’t I make it right? I should, and I . 
do! Nobody else has got a thing to say about it, 
either.” 

Hawkins leaned forward and stretched his long 
neck outward and downward until his nose was 
quite into Morton’s face. He said : 

“I’ve got something to say. Major. I’ve got 
something to say. I lost twenty head of steers three 
months ago. I haven’t forgotten. Major. I’ve got 
something to say.” 

Morton stepped back, purple with rage, his whole 
huge being moving as he breathed. Hawkins looked 
him over, as if he were some loathsome object be- 
neath his contempt, and then turned and walked up 
and down the clear space in the room, still with his 
neck craned outward and downward, still with a 
look of peering insolence in his eyes. To my sur- 
prise, no one spoke to him, or to Morton. Whether 
anything affecting final judgment in the matter in 
hand was being determined by the struggle going 
on on the floor or not, I cannot say. Certainly the 
crowd did not show by word or act which side it 
championed. Reynolds stood, half-leaning against 
the bar, a faint smile twitching at the corner of his 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


131 


mouth, as his gaze traveled from Hawkins to Mor- 
ton, and back again to Hawkins. Dock was beside 
Reynolds. Ed was near them, and all open- 
mouthed at the prospect of a fight. The others 
looked on with more or less unconcern. While, 
apparently oblivious to them all, Red stood near the 
door, whittling idly, and glancing, every now and 
then, outside to where the horses were, and where 
now and again a late arrival rode in with loud 
'‘Whoas V and much tramping of hoofs. Hawkins 
paused in his walk and gazed on the crowd. 
Then, stepping close to Morton again, he said sneer- 
ingly : 

“Yu can track a wolf right up to the dung pile 
at the door of his den, and yu can say that he don’t 
live there — that a gopher lives there, or a rabbit. 
But I can say that Mr. Wolf does live there, and — 
Ain’t I right, men? Ain’t I right?” 

There was no response to this appeal beyond a 
few nods, and they expressed nothing. Whatever 
was needed to move this throng of impassive 
humanity was not yet apparent. But it came soon 
enough — quite soon enough for me. 

Morton glared at Hawkins for a moment, and 
then exploded. “B’ gin, Hawkins, you and me are 
old friends, but b’ gin, you go too far ! I can ’tend 
to my own business, I can, and I do, gentlemen.” 
He arose on his toes, gesticulated comically with 
one fat arm. “I can ’tend to my own business, gen- 
tlemen.” And he gazed around as he began to 
fumble blindly into the pocket of his bag-like 
trousers. 

Hawkins gave a shrug of contempt as he watched 
Morton in his search. Reynolds came forward, 


132 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


and Dock crossed the room, taking a position near 
Red, to whom he spoke a low word. The cow- 
puncher’s expression did not change. 

Morton, after more fumbling and much empty- 
ing of pockets, now produced a gold piece. Hold- 
ing it in his palm for all to see, he crossed the room 
to Red, treading heavily, importantly. 

''Here!” He tapped Red’s shoulder, although 
the cow-puncher was looking straight at him. 
"Here, how much do I owe you, young man ?” 

"Yu owe me foah thirteen days’ work — seven- 
teen dollahs and fifty cents, seh.” 

Morton drew a deep breath and swelled out his 
cheeks, as he fumbled in his pockets again. "Hum- 
um-hum,” he counted the change. "Here, ten — 
fifteen — seventeen, and fifty cents. And you are 
discharged ! You hear me, discharged !” 

"Yes, seh,” said Red, pocketing the money. Then 
calmly presenting his back to Morton, he gazed out 
at the door. 

"Well, release this man! Take your rope off 
Logan, here.” 

Red turned slowly round. "I’m not takin’ awders 
from yu now, seh. I am no longah in your employ, 
seh.” 

A chuckle passed over the crowd, followed by a 
murmur of talk. There was a movement among 
the cowboys from the Llano Estacado — a crowding 
nearer and craning of necks to see Red. 

Morton’s face purpled with rage. "Why, b’ ” 

He raised himself on his toes and settled back in- 
effectually, raised himself again, and again settled 
back, seeming unable to utter more than that "Well, 
b’ .” 


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133 


Dock put a steadying hand on his neighbor's 
shoulder. “Calm yourself, Morton," he said kindly, 
“or by jinks, you'll bust!" 

At once the chuckle swelled into a laugh. Every- 
body laughed uproariously, but stopped short — 
Morton had recovered his voice. 

“Well, b' gin, you will turn him loose," he roared 
at Red, “or I'll cut your damned rope — I'll cut — 
cut " 

Red's revolver was out and his piercing eye 
looked straight along the barrel to Morton's temple. 

“Don't yu touch that man, seh! — or that rope, 
seh !" 

Morton settled back blinking, a hand on either 
side of his heaving chest. There was a sound in 
the room — a letting out of much suspended breath. 
Then a big cow-puncher — one from the Llano 
Estacado — edged his way out of the crowd, and 
crossed the room, with much scraping of spurs, to 
Red's side. His hand was laid suggestively on his 
revolver. 

Dock's face was beaming, as he turned and 
touched Red's arm. “Put up your gun, Red," he 
said. “We are all with you, you see, so put up your 
gun, boy." 

Red lowered his revolver. Someone took Mor- 
ton out in the air. He was the subject of the talk 
of those remaining. But above their words and 
laughter I could hear Red speaking to Dock and 
Reynolds. Soon all were listening. 

“I've told yu of the tracks I follo'ed, and of the 
things I seen on Skunk Island, — and I have told 
that same to the sheriff of this here country. He 
will be here soon. And him, and yu alls, can do as 


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the law directs about the stealin’ of cattle and about 
the makin’ of whiskey — I gave in all I know about 
both of them offences, and I ain't no more inter- 
ested in the outcome than any man here. But this 
fello' — this Logan, him and me have got a little 
mattah to settle between ouahselves." ^ 

A deep hush had fallen. It was broken by Dock, 
who tugged at Red's sleeve and asked : 

‘'What — what is it. Red? What has he done to 
you ?" 

Red started to speak, but his words were 
drowned. 

“The sheriff! He has called the sheriff!" 

Hawkins, towering above the others, emitted 
these words, as an over- full tea kettle spouts out 
jets of water as it boils. 

“My God! Do us fellers need a sheriff?" Haw- 
kins asked. “Can't we all hang a cattle thief as 
well as a sheriff? Do yu hear this, Reynolds? We 
know who the thief is, boys. We know where he 
sleep o' nights. Do we need a sheriff to catch 
him for us? I say, Reynolds, do we all need a 
sheriff?" 

Hawkins had the floor again, and as he strode up 
and down, motioning with a long arm above men's 
heads, his gaunt body seemed fairly to writhe in the 
disgrace he felt — the imputed weakness of his man- 
hood — that the sheriff need be called to redress his 
wrongs. His voice, husky at first, and hoarse as 
the growl of a beast, rose clear and sharp-edged as 
he resumed : 

“No, b' thunder, we don't need no sheriff. We are 
a lot of easy-goin' farmers, but we don't need no 
sheriff. We know how to tie a noose — I say, some 
of us knows how — some of us, boys." 


t HE UPt>ER TRAIL 


135 


Hawkins paused to let those words sink in. Then 
facing about, with a movement sudden and deter- 
mined, he beat a palm with a fist and continued : 

''We can take care of our own cattle thieves — 
we are men enough to do it. We know, now, who 
it is that’s been skulkin’ around our herds, seein’ 
how many fat yearlings we had, and where they 
was bedded at night. We know now who has been 
a-smilin’ in our faces, and eatin’ at our tables — yes, 
eatin’ at our tables, by thunder ! — eatin’ at our tables, 
and layin’ plans as they chewed our grub, to rob us 
the same night. We know who has been dancin’ 
with our wives, and a-smilin’ over their shoulders 
at us easy dupes — a-smilin’ and a-dancin’ and 
a-eatin’ our grub, and all the time with their fingers 
into our wallets — in our wallets, by thunder ! And 
we know them now, we know who they are now, 
boys. Do we need any sheriff ?” 

He had answer this time — a chorus of curses. 
Men crowded to get near him. They began to 
mutter and talk. Red took in the significance of 
this at a glance, and a look of alarm crossed his 
face. He had been playing for time all along — I 
understood that now, and understood, too, why he 
had kept back a part of his story — he did not want 
to inflame the coals of hate which he knew were 
smouldering in the breast of each man there. But 
he had miscalculated the effect of the news of the 
sheriff’s coming — its effect on Hawkins, at least. 
For Hawkins would not stop now until he had 
stirred the men up to the point of murder, and 
Red knew it. Therefore he stepped out and began, 
imperatively, to speak. 

"There is two sides to every case,” he said. "Yu 


V 


136 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


fellers here knows that, so then there is two sides to 
this here thing. I found them tracks, and I found 
the hawss that made them. I found that that hawss 
belongs to the boss of the Skunk Island gang — ^be- 
longs to Chad ’’ 

‘'Oh, God These words came like a groan from 
the floor. Logan had sunk down in a heap, and 
seemed trying to hide his face under his arm, since 
he could not cover it with his hand. “Chad is done 
for,'' he moaned, “he is done for ! — and all because 
I bungled my job! — all because I didn't do my 
work thorough. Chad always was cussin' me be- 
cause I didn't do my work thorough — oh, God 1 — - 
God a'mighty " 

He ran on, but the exclamations of the crowd 
drowned his words. “What does he say?'’ they 
asked. “What job did he bungle? Chad cussed 
him, he said. Well " 

Red bent over Logan. He spoke a word to him. 
I heard it — a low, commanding “Shut up !" Then, 
stepping in front of his prisoner, he raised a hand 
for silence, and resumed speaking. 

“Yu see, now, fello's, that what I found ain't 
direct evidence, no, it ain't. If I had found Chad 
Harris red-handed, with the goods — that there 
would have been direct evidence — we could go with 
Mr. Hawkins then, and hang the gang to the cotton- 
woods. But, men, I didn't. I just found tracks — 
hawss tracks — Chad Harris's hawss tracks. And 
though it looks bad, and sounds bad to tell, it don't 
prove that he stol'd the cattle — no, fello's, it don't 
prove it. So that is why I took the thing to the 
sheriff, for now it can be worked up according to 
law. "I'hem fello's will have a chancet to prove 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


137 


they ain't guilty, and we will have a chancet to 
prove they are; if we can't prove it, then we'll be 
glad we didn't hang innocent men." 

The crowd began to grind before he ceased 
speaking. Excitement, now that it had gained 
supremacy, burned at fever heat. Every man was 
anxious to hear what every other man was saying — 
he was anxious himself to talk. 

“The boy is right. He ain't got direct evidence! 
Go to bed ! He's got it plain as day. Did you hear 
what Logan said? That cooked me. What did 
Chad ride in the water for — tell me that? And 
them was redskins. But, man, Logan said he 
bungled his job! What job? We don't need no 
sheriff ! The boy knows more than he's told. I 
say that, too ! Red ? He's afeared he'll be hanted ! 
— Haunted — git ! That evidence is enough to hang 
fifty men ! Sh-s ! — I say — sh !" 

“Let me talk, fellers ! Let me talk !" cried Logan, 
stumbling, half-falling in their midst, his face 
ashen gray under the light, and streaked with sweat. 
“It's all my fault, I tell you. I bungled my job. 
Chad ain't done a thing that wasn’t square by you 
all. He rode up to Signal Mountain to unload some 
whiskey on the Chickasaws. That's straight! I 
ain’t lyin' — I ain't got no time to lie ! I've got to 
save Chad and the boys ! You fellers are all off 
about Chad — he thought it was the whiskey busi- 
ness that brought Red to the island. We knowed 
he had jumped his job with Morton and was spy in’ 
on us. Chad figured that some cutter had employed 
him. And he sent me out after him — after Red — 
told me that if he crossed the Black Prairie to do for 
him! — but I bungled my job! That's the whole 


138 


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trouble. I bungled my job — and Chad trusted me! 
But see ! I am telling you all the truth I Chad ain't 
done nothin' — nothin' but make whiskey, and you 
knowed he did that. He was North sellin' — that's 
all. I'm tellin' everything — everything I know 

‘‘Chris told me that Chad had been through the 
settlements looking for corn," said Red, unable to 
resist the temptation to expose this falsehood. 

“He — Chris didn't — oh, you " And bound 

and hobbled as he was, Logan made a dash at Red. 

But a dozen men were on him. They bore him 
to the floor, while they shouted curses and threats 
which merged finally into that voiced by Reynolds : 

“We'll string you up! By Jack, we will string 
you up if you don't confess the whole thing! — and 
we'll do it right now ! There ! Hands off of him 
now. Let him talk, boys." 

“I — I — fellers, give me a chance. I've told you 
all God's truth. I tried to do for Red. I told him 
that the bridge was on-safe. And so he rode into 
the river — the ripple out there showed him plain 
for all the night was dark as hell. And I took 
good aim — I thought I was steady — that I took 
good aim — I thought I did for him. See ! I don’t 
deny nothin'. You fellers do what you want to for 
me. But Chad and the boys — ^you are off about " 

“Oh, stop your rubbish ! Give us the truth !" 
Reynolds growled like a bulldog in Logan's ear. 
“Give us the truth now, quick! — the cattle stealing 
quick! or out you go!" 

Logan seemed to collapse then. His voice was 
weak and husky as he said, “You all can string me 
up as soon as you please. I've told all I know." 

“All right ! Here, Red, he's your meat — you c^n 
slip the noose. Here — somebody " 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


139 


Reynolds was eager to the point of frenzy. But 
everybody had not heard what Logan had said — 
they wanted to hear. They got their hands on him, 
they boosted him up and commanded him to talk. 
Others bore him down again. Hawkins clamored 
to get hold of his throat — he could shake the truth 
out of the cowardly cur! Dock was howling that 
he had shot at Red — had followed him — waylaid 
him — fired at him, and confessed the crime. 

''Hang him he shouted. "Hang him ! To the 
timber with him 1 Hang him, boys ! Let him make 
his confession in hell!” 

It was a wild scene — the wildest I ever witnessed, 
and the vision of it is before me as I write, so if I 
tell too much of what was said and done that night, 
you must skip it as you read. I must give just a 
little more : The ranchers and cowboys now 
crowded to the center of the room. They surged 
in and out, now shouting, now growling like a pack 
of wolves in a fight, while in their midst appeared 
and reappeared the white face of Logan. Red stood 
apart from it all, gazing on the struggle, yet 
always listening for the sound of hoofs without. 
Ed, still open-mouthed, had gone behind the bar, 
where he stood beside the bartender, who guffawed 
and motioned at regular intervals, like some huge 
automatic toy. And beyond all, drooping and help- 
less, laboring for breath, was Morton, staring owl- 
like from a gloom-shrouded corner. 

Then, all at once, silence fell, like the sudden 
closing of the door of an engine room. So unex- 
pected was it that all held their breath. What had 
happened? I craned my neck, and saw only Red. 
But he was at the center of the crowd now. He 


140 


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laid a steadying hand on Logan. His voice was 
gentle when he spoke. 

‘‘Take ca-ah, fello’s — let go, there, Mr. Hawkins. 
This here prisoner is in my ca-ah till the sherifif gets 
here, I reckon.’’ 

Several stepped back. Amazement bereft all of 
the power of speech. Others retained their hold on 
Logan. 

“Stand back, fello’s,” said Red again. “I man- 
aged him alone on the prairie — I can here. I will 
take charge of him now.” 

“Take him to the timber, then,” snarled Reynolds, 
stepping aside. 

Red did not respond to this. He had freed his 
man, and now he put himself before him. Before 
they could grasp his meaning, he had him safe at 
the wall. Then Reynolds, divining his purpose, 
rushed forward. But Red’s gun was out. Again 
his eye glared along the barrel straight into the eye 
of his adversary. 

“Stop where yu are, Reynolds,” he said. 

“What ! Why, don’t you draw your gun on me ! 

— No man can do — why ” roared Reynolds, and 

then stopped. 

“This here is all foolishness,” said Hawkins, 
pushing to the front. “He has confessed enough to 
hang ten men. This boy can’t — why ” 

But Hawkins stopped also. Something in Red’s 
attitude — something in the steady glare of his eye 
checked him. And something in both caused him 
when he spoke to say : 

“Why, man, he shot at yu ! — yu know he did ! — 
he says he did. What more do yu want? What 
more ?” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


141 


'‘Yes, Red,'’ said Dock, breaking in, "he shot at 
you ! He tried his darndest to kill you !" 

"That ain’t no reason foah me to be killin’ of him 
now,” said Red. "He ain’t armed now. He is 
bound hand and foot, — I ain’t in no dangah now.” 

"Black heifers! What rot! What rot!” bawled 
Hawkins. "What are yu goin’ to do, then? Lead 
him around all his days like he was a gentle, milk- 
givin’ cow? Yu know that if he ever gets firearms 
again, he will kill yu. Want to be plugged? Want 
to feel hot lead under your hide ? Or what the devil 
do yu want?” 

"There is a law coverin’ such a case as our’n, I 
reckon,” said Red calmly. 

"Law, hell ! Well, the law will hang him, then ! 
Where’s the difference ? I say the safest and 
quickest way. Come on, boys ! One rush and 
we’ve got him ! Red, yu can have his hide to stuff, 
if yu think so much of havin’ a cattle thief around 
yu. Now — everybody co-o ” ■ 

He stopped, and the hand he had lifted to urge 
on the men fell to his side. There wasn’t a sound 
in the room. Only Red’s words, like the steady, 
slow-sounding of the gong of death : 

"I don’t want to hurt yu, Hawkins.” 

The men stood and stared at the one who could 
stand in the face of the master of the pack, and 
calmly utter these words — and do it for the life of a 
man who had tricked him, as he hoped, to his death. 
Then they looked at each other — some made a 
motion as though putting the thing away. Red 
spoke again: 

"I don’t want to hurt nobody,”' he said. "But I 
tell yu all that this here man won’t hang to-night! 
— not to-night, fello’s!” 


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"‘Well, of all the pig-headed, impudent — da ’’ 

Reynolds began, but Hawkins silenced him with : 

''Logan ain’t the only one, boys ! There are others 
just his stripe, and we know who they are. We 
know they are just like he is. Yu have heard what 
he has confessed to — lyin’, shootin’, stealin’ — all that 
a man can lay game to he’s done. And the others 
are the same, boys — they are all one gang !” 

Hawkins snatched up his hat as he spoke. His 
face was bloated with rage. Insatiate vengeance 
and a thirst for blood seemed to have possessed him 
wholly. 

'‘To the island !” he cried, flinging out a long arm. 
"To Skunk Island, boys ! There is enough of us to 
do the job. To the Skunk!” 

Red lowered his gun. He had played his last 
card — made his last move in the game of delay, and 
the sheriff was not yet come. He glanced out at the 
door to where the late moon was casting long beams 
of light between struggling shadows. Then his gaze 
came back sorrowfully to Reynolds, to Dock, to 
Hawkins. 

"I hoped yu all would wait till the sheriff got 
here,” he said in a tone of deep disappointment, and 
to no one in particular. But they all heard him. 
Hawkins paused to sneer : 

"Where’s your sheriff?” 

"Yes, chorused a dozen others. "Where’s your 
sheriff? Where is he?” 

"I’ve been expectin’ him foah a right smart 
while,” said Red, a deep flush of annoyance cover- 
ing his face and neck. 

"Yes,” they sneered, "for the last three hours 
you have been telling us that he’d be here in a few 
minutes, — now, where is he?” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


143 


said he’d start in about an houah aftah me, 
seh. He’d ought to have been here ahead of me — 
I was detained some.” 

‘'Maybe he tried to cross on that on-safe bridge, 
Red,” said Ed, making himself heard for the first 
time. 

Hawkins swung around, and settled his hat pre- 
paratory to going out. 

“The sheriff ain’t coming,” he said. “He ain’t 
here — he has had plenty of time to get here — so 
he ain’t coming. No use to wait for him any 
longer.” 

“He said he’d start in an houah, seh,” said Red, 
doggedly, yet with a note of pleading in his voice. 

“He said he would, but he didn’t fellers,” said 
Hawkins, business-like. “So we can’t depend on 
him to come at all. Come on ! To the Skunk, boys ! 
The Skunk!” 

Hawkins strode out, followed by the crowd. The 
big cow-puncher, who had championed Red earlier 
in the evening, now paused beside him. 

“You had better chuck your prisoner and come 
along,” he said. “If you say the word. I’ll hang 
back for you.” 

“I’m right obliged,” said Red, brightening. “I’d 
like right well to go ovah with the fello’s — I might 
prevent things.” 

“Well, the bartender here will keep your man — 
not much ginger left in him, I reckon.” 

Red took a step forward, but the bartender had 
heard and was already expressing his willingness. 
Red spoke a word to him, and hurried out. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


SKUNK ISLAND. 

The river ran silent and black, save for a few 
patches of silvery brightness, where the moon, low 
in the sky and in its last quarter, sent its beams 
between cottonwoods or willows. In one of those 
patches of light Skunk Island lay, still, dark and 
dense. The array of ranchers, cowboys and settlers 
had now resolved itself into a sort of posse, with 
Hawkins as leader, Reynolds as his right lieutenant, 
and all the others as majors and colonels, including 
Morton, who, recovered now from the heat of his 
anger, was about to succumb to the severe jolting 
the fast ride had given him, and was coughing and 
wheezing as he cursed the whole body and enter- 
prise. Red and the cow-puncher had ridden side 
by side, and now at the water’s edge they drew 
rein a little apart from the others. Red sat silent, 
gazing at the rippling water surrounding the island. 

‘'You have been over there right often, I take it,” 
said the cow-puncher. 

“Twice, seh,” said Red, without turning his head. 

“But you know the best place to land — farthest 
from the shacks, and all that?” 

“Yes, seh.” 

“Ain’t you goin’ to tell them ? — or do they 
know ?” 

Red glanced at Hawkins and his aids, all gathered 
in whispered consultation in the shadow of cotton- 
woods. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


145 


''I reckon they all think they do, seh/’ 

''Well,’' responded the cow-puncher, with a shrug 
of nasty meaning, "it would be easy business pickin’ 
men off in that moon light, yonder.” 

"I was just figuring on that there same ide-e. I 
had some experience in moonlight on the watah, 
seh, that is right fresh in my mind.” 

"You dived, they said.” 

"Yes, seh, dived, — it’s a thing a fello’ed rathah 
have to tell about than to anticipate.” And Red 
rode forward to the edge of the posse. 

"We’ve got to ride further down, boys,” Hawkins 
was saying, in a loud whisper, "and then swim our 
horses around to the right — so as to land in the 
shadow. See ?” 

"But unless I’ve been lied to, their shacks are at 
that end,” said a settler. 

"Yu have probably been lied to,” said Hawkins 
readily, but for all his glibness he was plainly at 
loss how to proceed. 

"We ain’t makin’ much better time than the 
sheriff,” said Ed, with a smothered giggle. 

"Shut up, can’t you !” said Reynolds, in an im- 
patient undertone. And Hawkins took it up. 

"Yes, keep still ! What did yu come along for- 
anyhow ?” 

"Oh, let’s quietly swim right up to this end of the 
island,” said one of the colonels. "We can go still, 
— they won’t be watchin’ at this hour of the night.” 

"They will be watchin’, too,” said Reynolds. 
"Chad had his suspicions aroused, or he’d never 
have sent Logan out. And Logan’s not back yet — 
you bet they’ll be watchin’.” 

"I think yu are right, seh,” said Red. 


146 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘'What! Yu here?’’ Hawkins growled, but was 
unable, even with gruffness, to conceal his pleasure. 

“Yes, seh, — and if yu will listen to me, seh. I’ll 
tell yu that the sand bar at this end is the only safe 
landin’ on the island, seh.” 

“Oh, thunder ! I can land my horse anywhere.” 

“Yes, seh, I reckon yu can do as yu say, seh. But 
yu’d likely make considerable noise doin’ it, — a 
flounderin’ hawss ain’t over-careful of the splash 
he makes.” 

Hawkins cursed for a full minute. Reynolds 
gave attention to Red. He tried to jolly him, 
saying : 

“See here. Red, you can’t talk us out of this thing, 
and you just as well shut up !” And in the silence 
this produced he said in an eager whisper: “Come 
on, boys, we’re off! — we’re off! — headed for this 
end of the old Skunk!” 

“Don’t do it, seh,” cried Red, as the men began to 
move. “Don’t go, fello’s ! It’s death, that’s all.” 

“What do you know about it?” growled a colonel. 

“I know that yu all will land right in the midst 
of a score of desperate men — and with your guns 
wet ” 

“Guns wet?” 

“Yes, seh, your guns will be wet. Your hawsses 
ain’t used to watah, and they’ll duck every man of 
yu about twiced goin’ ovah — mine did. And a wet 
gun is an oncommon poor weapon.” 

“Well,” growled Reynolds, and everybody rode 
back to the cottonwoods. There was a long minute 
of silence. Then someone called out : 

“Somebody say what to do.” 

Nobody replied. Ed was heard yawning. “I’m 
gettin’ sleepy standin’ here,” he said. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


147 


And at once every man there was mad. He 
knew what to do, and he was going right now to do 
it. It looked like everyone was going forward single- 
handed and alone, when Red suddenly proposed a 
plan. 

‘‘Listen, felloes. We’ll wait till ” 

“Wait! Yes, that’s all yu can think of,” snarled 
Hawkins. 

“We’ll wait till that cloud yondah, comes ” 

“Oh, hell I We was to wait for the sheriff! Now 
we’re to wait for a cloud.” 

“Will yu oblige me, seh, and keep your mouth 
shut, seh,” said Red, a strong accent of anger in his 
tone. 

“I’ll oblige the crowd by knocking the infernal 
head off’n yu, yu red-topped son-of ” 

At this juncture one of the majors clapped a hand 
over Hawkins’ mouth, effectually stopping his 
threat. By the time he had done cursing this man. 
Red held the attention of the others, and was 
saying : 

“In a half-houah — or less time — that cloud will 
be ovah the moon. Then a couple of ouah best 
swimmers will cross to the far end of the island, 
where them fello’s keep their freight boats — they’ll 
sneak one. While they are gone, the rest of us will 
lay ouah plans, tie up the hawsses and get ready. 
We’ll paddle ovah, as still as beavahs, and land, — if 
they let us — all dry and ready to fight.” 

“That’s it !” cried a man who had opposed every- 
thing Red had said till now. “That’s the termater ? 
Now we’re talkin’ something like! Wake up, Ed!” 

“Only the infernal cloud is going the other way,” 
Hawkins growled. 


148 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


''No such stuff/’ someone answered back. "It’s 
cornin’ up, and lively, too. I’ll bet there’s rain in 
it.” 

"Well, we’re neither sugar nor salt.” 

"Or nobody’s honey,” said Ed. 

"Oh, the devil’s kittens ! Let’s talk sense, or go 
home !” 

"Sh! We’re too loud, fellers !” 

"That’s right. Say, you bet that cloud’s risin’,” 
in a whisper. 

"It beats waitin’ for the sheriff, anyhow,” 
growled Hawkins, watching the cloud. 

"I told the bartender to send him right along, if 
he was to come,” said Red. 

"Well — dog my black heifers !” Hawkins ex- 
ploded. 

"Blast you, Red, if I thought you was keepin’ us 
here waitin’ for that sheriff, I’d throw you in the 
river,” said Dock. 

"He said he’d start in an houah, seh.” 

"When did I hear that before?” 

"The sheriff is abed and asleep,” said the big cow- 
puncher. 

"I reckon yu are right, seh,” said Red. For to 
tell the truth, he was more disgusted with the sheriff 
than any man there. 

So the time passed. And these men, all of whom 
expected soon to be close to death — some of them 
certainly corpses — whispered, cursed and laughed, 
careless of the consequences. Then the cloud passed 
like a heavy blanket over the moon. Two swimmers 
made off noiselessly. The horses were led away 
and tied, and one by one the men came back to 
learn the plan of attack. Hawkins was leader, and 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


149 


every man was willing to the point of eagerness to 
do the task assigned to him, even to Morton, who, 
amid much suppressed laughter, was given the task 
of testing the whiskey. 

But when the boat grated on the sand, all were 
serious. By the time mid-stream was reached, 
every man had taken stock of his courage and found 
it sufficient. Every revolver was cocked. And all 
were silent, gazing intently on the fringe of trees 
that bordered the island, listening, breathing quick. 
The boat touched the sand bar. There was a light 
splash, then several. Hawkins, followed by his 
men, sprang ashore, counting wet feet as nothing 
beside a moment’s loss of time. The wind was toss- 
ing the taller trees and moaning among their 
branches, when the men, noiseless as Indians, darted 
in among them. 

The fight, like all where there is no alternative 
save victory, was short. The watch was found by 
miracle or inspiration — he was surrounded and cap- 
tured. But all their hands gripping at his throat 
were not sufficient to keep back one shrill, broken, 
-Hell’s lo— loose!” 

He was given over to those delegated to throttle 
and bind captives. And then — but who could de- 
scribe the hand-to-hand conflict that endued there in 
the blackness ? — a tempest howling 1 — a darkness 
rendered yet more dark by occasional burning 
tongues of lightning! — all in a small world, full of 
shots, curses, groans and growling thunder ! 

When it was over, and the men dared to move 
and speak, it was found that the cowboys did the 
most of the work. One settler was dead, and one 
Islander; Hawkins had lost a finger by grasping a 


150 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


revolver that was being discharged in his face; 
Dock admitted finally that he had a bullet in his 
thigh ; Ed could not be found. 

‘‘My God, fellers, Vm drownding,’’ gasped a cap- 
tive from the ground. And they realized then that 
the rain was pouring down in torrents, and that 
they were standing in water inches deep. 

Lanterns were hastily brought from the shack 
and the captives carried to shelter, one by one. 
When they carried Chad Harris in, he was raving 
like a fiend. It was found that he was blinded by 
powder burns, both arms were shattered by bullets, 
and one leg was broken. 

Yet in his rage he suffered no pain. The men 
laid him down, looked at each other, and without a 
word took him up again. A rope was called for 
and heavy feet splashed in the water outside. In 
a few minutes the men returned and stood about in 
the shack. The gaze of every captive was upon 
them from the floor. 

“Chad warn’t the feller to die whole,’’ said one, 
in answer to this wordless inquiry. 

“Then yu alls did ” The voice of the captive 

broke there. 

“Ya-ah, had to to save his life.” 

“No use lettin’ him lay and suffer till mornin’.” 

“No use at all.” 

There was a long minute of awkward silence, 
while the rain poured upon the roof in wave-like 
torrents. Then 

“Sh! Hark! Halt!” 

Several sprang to the door with ready revolvers. 
There was the distinct sound of a step outside. 

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Ed? Well, come in. You’ll 
get wet,” said Reynolds. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


151 


And Ed came in, all white and dripping, and 
sank down in a corner with an audible groan. They 
mercifully ignored him. 

There was another, longer pause. Then, on the 
heels of a deafening crash of thunder, someone 
said : 

'‘What a night ! What a r^n ! I never seen the 
like before in Texas.'’ 

"The sheriff will hardly come over, will he. Red ?” 
Reynolds asked. 

Red looked up. His face was weary and his eyes 
red with loss of sleep. But he spoke hopefully. "I 
hope so, seh." They all smiled . 

"It is a hell of a night, all right," said another 
man. "But I have seen as bad. Why, oncet in " 

And so the restraint wore off. Everyone had a 
storm-story to tell, till finally the rain ceased as 
abruptly as it began, and only the dripping of the 
eaves remained. Hawkins sneezed. 

"This wetting is sure to give me a deuce of a cold," 
he growled, blowing his nose as if it were a trumpet. 

"We all ought to have some whiskey," said a 
colonel. 

"That's right ! Let's look around and find some." 

Several departed toward the still, slipping in the 
mud and swearing good-humoredly as they fol- 
lowed a man with a lantern. They came back in a 
few minutes, with long faces and much doleful 
shaking of heads. They had found nothing, and 
consequently were quite consumed with a desire for 
whiskey. 

"There is sure to be some around here," said one, 
pretending to shiver. 

"Where is the whiskey, Chris?" another asked 
of that prostrate moonshiner. 


152 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘‘Yes, Chris, you tell us where it is, and we’ll 
give you a drink. You ought to have it, too. We’ll 
give all of you fellers a drink.” 

This man fairly beamed with his happy idea. 

But Chris only growled in answer to the gen- 
erous offer. 

“Well, suit yourself,” said Reynolds. “We’ll find 
it, anyway — as soon as daylight comes.” 

“Sure,” said everyone. 

“Yu as well give us the location of it now, and 
get a pull at it yourself — all of yu.” 

Another chorus of “Sure !” and “Just as well, 
Chris !” 

“I’ll take you to it,” said Chris. 

“No, yu won’t, either,” said Hawkins, and shook 
his head sagely. “No, none of that game, boys.” 

“Course not, — he just as well tell.” 

“Come, Chris, tell us what direction it is. In a 
cave, is it?” 

But Chris remained sullenly silent. The men’s 
thirst increased rapidly, and a feeling of chilliness 
caused general alarm ; one felt a twinge of rheuma- 
tism, another had a neuralgia pain. They tried the 
other captives, one by one, but failing to get even a 
word, came back again to Chris. 

“Is there any year-old here?” one inquired., 

“About a barrel,” said Chris. 

“Think of that, fellers! — a barrel, he says, and 
us too dry to spit.” 

“And another barrel of two-year-old,” said 
Chris. 

“Two-year-old Bourbon I Chris says there is 
two-year-old Bourbon, boys, — a barrel of it.” 

One man audibly smacked his lips. “The cutters 
will get it, Chris, if you all don’t let us have it.” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


153 


'Til take you to it,” he repeated. 

The men looked at Hawkins. "Why not? He 
can’t get away.” 

"We-ell, just his legs, boys, just free his feet. 
And — lash his hands to his sides. Yes, all right.” 

They boosted Chris up. 

"There! No-ow, will your legs hold you, Chris? 
All right. Come on, boys.” 

They went out, all of them except Red, and Ed, 
whom the talk of whiskey had revived sufficiently 
for him to leave his corner, but not yet enough that 
he dared venture in the dark. Red went to the 
door. Ed clutched his sleeve. 

"Did they hang Chad?” he asked, in an awed 
whisper. "Is he hangin’ out there, all wet and — and 
dead?” 

"I reckon so, Ed.” 

"Crickey I” said Ed, his teeth beginning to chatter. 
Then bravely, "I hope they get that whiskey — I feel 
a chill cornin’ on.” 

Red looked steadily at him. "Yu oughtn’t to have 
come, Ed,” he said kindly. 

A faint tinge of color came into Ed’s white face. 
"I don’t know what Maw’d say if she knowed I was 
here,” he said. 

Red’s gaze dropped, and a flush covered his own 
face. He avoided Ed’s wild eyes, and ran a hand 
across his forehead, as if to brush from his mind 
some disturbing thought. "If the sheriff had done 
as he promised ” he began, and then stopped. 

"What did you say. Red?” 

Red took the boy’s arm. "Come and sit down, 
Ed ; yu can wait bettah,” he said, and led him to a 
seat. 


154 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Ed had not long to wait. The crowd came back 
joyfully bearing a wooden bucket full of whiskey. 
The men had had a drink around as the liquor was 
poured from the barrel — the hot burn of it was still 
on their tongues and in their throats, but they were 
anxious to make the burn hotter. The man with the 
bucket was at the centre of the group ; the one with 
the can raced gleefully ahead. They came in like a 
bunch of schoolboys. 

‘'We found it!’’ one shouted. “Sure, we got it! 
Why didn’t you come along. Red ?” 

Then they all talked. 

“Say, it’s the hot stuff all right! We opened 
the two-year-old ! — Where’s that can ? — I’m first ! — 
No, he was first last time ! — Well, he drinks like a 
fish. Say, look at him, won’t yu? Yu can hear the 
whiskey drop right from his gullet to the bottom of 
his stummick! — I’m next!” 

And so the talk went on until all were served. 
Then, as the last man was wiping his mouth on the 
back of his hand, someone sang out : 

“Prisoners next! Chris! Here, Chris!” They 
all stared about. “Why — where is Chris?” 

“Where? — Who was watchin’ him? Wasn’t any- 
body watchin’ him? He’s gone! Has he gone, 
fellers ?” 

They bumped into each other as they crowded 
through the door. And then scattered in every direc- 
tion, running, slipping in the mud, knocking against 
trees, listening, calling out, “Who’s this? — Halt! — 
Listen! — Come on!” 

The island was scoured. Occasionally one came 
back to the shack and questioned Ed, who, with 
Morton, now snoring comfortably, remained behind. 


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155 


‘‘Ain't he been found yet? Why, he can't get 
off the island ! He wouldn't dare go in the water 
with his hands bound." And swearing, this man dis- 
appeared again in the darkness, more determined 
than ever to find the fugitive. 

Finally, the dawn came, and the search was sys- 
tematic and thorough. Every foot of the island was 
covered, every pile of drift lifted, every fallen log 
moved. And still they would not give up, until each 
man had himself inspected the land. The sun rose, 
red and radiant, but after a full-faced look at the 
dark, wet earth, with its trouble and crime, it drew 
the clouds over its face and remained hidden. By 
this time the men were forced to accept the inevit- 
able — Chris had gone into the water 

He was drowned, of course! If not, they could 
easily track him in all this mud — sure, they could! 
They'd catch him easy. He'd land on the Territory 
side — he'd never try to hide in the State — no use 
lookin’ for him there ! So they would search the 
north bank, get his trail, and have him back and 
ready for the buzzards by noon. And then the talk 
became more direct. “Somebody get ready to go — 
Who's going to hunt for Chris? — It won't take all 
of us to finish the job here. Now, three or four of 
you young bloods get ready and go fetch Chris in." 

It was Hawkins mostly who urged them on, but 
the others were eager. They had no doubt about 
catching Chris. Their chief concern in the matter 
was that they had allowed him to escape. It was 
galling to their pride — the Southern, distinctively 
Texan pride — that their grand coup had been 
spoiled by the escape of this one man. They would 
get him back — get his body back — but that would 


156 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


not change the fact that he had escaped them — 
escaped men like Hawkins, like Reynolds, like Dock 
and Darling, and the whole bunch of cowboys from 
the Llano Estacado — outwitted the whole bunch! 
Wasn’t it enough to make a man sick? Sure, it was ! 
They blamed Chris, too. He had shown himself a 
fool, going into the water. They failed to see that 
death alone in the rushing river was quite as much 
to be desired as death suspended from the limb of 
a cottonwood tree. To them, it was cowardly to try 
to escape ; cowardly to plunge into the river, swollen 
and maddened by the storm, and with bound hands, 
try for life. A settler spoke of the act as brave, but 
the others sneered him to silence. It was only fear 
bravery — reckless chance! Chad Harris was the 
brave one — he didn’t run, or scheme some little trick 
— he fought! — fought and cursed right up to the 
last. Chad had the making of a man in him — a pity 
someone had not taken him in hand in his young 
days and fetched the kinks out of him. A pretty 
young woman could have done the trick. Or maybe 
it was some pretty young female that destroyed his 
belief in the rewards of the righteous. No telling. 

'Well, who went for Chris?” 

"Why, Dock went, and Hawkins, one of them 
cowboys, and Red — Say, did Red go?” 

"Ya-ah, Red went.” 

"Well, they’ll get Chris all right.” 

"Sure, they’ll fetch him in. Red was kind of hot 
at us fellers, don’t you think? He had a right to 
be, I say, after all he’d done. And the sheriff goin’ 
back on his word — that hurt Red, too, I reckon.” 

"You bet it did ! But it was luck he didn’t come, 
I say. You can’t trust a case like this to stat-u 
books.” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


157 


^‘That’s right. Why, oncet I seen a case where a 
woman got scott free from killin’ a man Vv^hen they 
had a dozen witnesses against her.” 

''Yes. They call it stat-u limitations, don’t they?” 

“They do use that term, but I think they cleared 
her on an albino, or albinie, — something like that.” 

"Shoo ! Well, I have no use for law or lawyers.” 

"Not when I want to see justice done.” 

"That’s right, — and these fellers are guilty.” 

"None of ’em ’fessed up, have they?” 

"Oh, no, nor will they — unless it be that Chris.” 

"He’s a coward. Well, we got work to do, fellers, 
work before breakfast, this mawnin’.” 

"Let’s take another pull at the Bourbon.” 

"Nerves workin’ on yu?” 

"No,— oh, no !” 

"Well, let’s get at it, boys — fine morning for the 
job.” 

"Oh, couldn’t be beat.” 

They moved toward the shack in a body. Some- 
one asked : 

"Has Morton been seen ?” 

"Ya-ah, he’s at the shack. Got a belly ache, he 
says.” 

"Has he come over?” 

"Come over? — oh, yes, partly. But he’s red hot 
at Red.” 

"Hot at Red? I say the boy did good work.” 

"You couldn’t beat it. Hope he lands Chris — 
that’s all I ask of him this mawnin’.” 

"Yes, but why did Morton take the gang’s side in 
this? — it beats me.” 

"Oh, he’s got to beef about somethin’.” 

"Well, Red got pay for his time — seventeen-fifty 
he charged Morton.” 


158 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


heard that? Say I — a spade? Yes, I saw 
one down at the still. Want it?'' 

‘‘Yes, after a bit. We'll need to dig some holes." 

So they talked, right up to the door of the shack, 
trying to appear indifferent — trying to convince each 
other that death was nothing to shrink from — that 
the still form of Chap Harris lying white and wet, 
beneath a wagon-sheet under the trees, was far 
from their thoughts. Trying each to convince him- 
self that he was anxious, nay eager, to do for the 
other moonshiners, who lay, without murmur or 
question, in the shack, awaiting their turn to follow 
their leader. Perhaps the need of this self-prodding 
was that Hawkins was not with them. But they 
would never have admitted it. They did not need 
anyone to push them into their duty. No, they'd do 
the thing up ! They looked up into dark foliage sup- 
ported by dark boughs. Here was a good, strong 
limb — high and easy to get into — maybe they'd use 
it. Say — oh, well, no use — there were plenty of 
limbs. Then they looked beyond the dark foliage, — 
strange no birds were singing. How low the clouds 
looked, and as black as cats. Well, it was an ideal 
day for the job — ^it was dark work, all right. But a 
man couldn't have his yearlings drove off regular, 
and his best filly always to disappear. No, a man 
couldn’t. And there was no use trustin' to law 
officers, not a bit. My, what a blasted wet, dark 
dump this island was ! No white man would live 
on it, unless there was reasons compelling him to. 
Probably them fellers was a lot of devils before they 
came West — they sure must have been. And look 
at that hole of a shack that they all lived in. Look — 
why, that canvas couldn't have moved! Sure not! 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


159 


Chap was dead all right. Well — why, that — that 
smells like bacon. Who? — Ain’t that coffee? 

‘‘Breakfast, boys,” said Morton, appearing in the 
doorway. 

They crowded to the table. They talked, and 
laughed, and ate. They magnanimously unbound 
the hands of the captives and helped them to food. 
Lord, it was good ! That was what they needed, all 
right — something warm inside. Pass that coffee pot ! 
— Yu bet, I’ll take more bacon. Let me take a turn 
at them flapjacks, — I’ve baked a carload in my time. 
Say, what’s the matter with Morton, fellers? Ain’t 
he a regular dandy, now ? Pass the coffee pot. Say, 
didn’t bacon make no grease? — well. I’ll have some 
of that on my flapjacks, yu all don’t need so much 
on the griddle. What? — batter’s all? Well, I’m 
comfortable, ain’t you, pard? 

The fellow addressed as “pard” was comfortable, 
so he said. And so were the captives, for although 
they had gone to the table sullenly, the demands of 
a healthy body on a chill, wet morning were not to 
be ignored. They ate, and when the whiskey was 
passed they drank. Then all smoked for a while. 
Later, some dozed, and others listened to Morton, 
who had formulated a plan to operate the still. A 
stock company was his idea of the proper caper, to 
consist of himself, Reynolds, Dock, — and Hawkins, 
“if he’d keep his rank mouth shut.” 

The plan met with enthusiastic support — partly 
because all felt kindly disposed toward Morton, and 
partly because it delayed, for a time, the grewsome 
work at hand. So they talked the idea up, and soon 
had the still running at full capacity, under the skill- 
ful direction of some “old hand” at such business. 


160 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


They turned out whiskey that rivaled even the Ken- 
tucky product — Just as well make it good. They 
declared a round dividend to the investors, and built 
a branch road north to the Station, and were deep 
in a plot to eliminate all danger from cutters when a 
man near the door gave an exclamation that sent the 
dream away on wings. 

^‘Here’s Red and Hawkins with — no, it ain’t.’’ 

'Tt’s soldiers, by crick ” 

‘‘No, it’s the sheriff!” 

“Well, by the jumpin’ polecats !” 

They looked at each other. Several picked up 
broken twigs and began to whittle. 

“Seems to me I recollect one time in history when 
a general waited till mawnin’ ” 

They gave each other sly side glances. 

“If Hawkins had of been here,” said one, bolder 
than the rest, “that there sheriff wouldn’t have been 
in time for the funeral.” 

“That’s right,” said Reynolds, stepping out. “We 
have time enough yet to do the job before they can 
get here. What do you all say?” 

But no one said anything. Every man was comic- 
ally busy with his whittling, or intent on the 
clouds overhead, or interested in the movements of 
the men on the opposite bank. 

“Sun’s goin’ to come out after a little,” said one of 
the gazers. “Them clouds are beginnin’ to break 
up a bit.” 

“Shoo!” said another, “some of us ought to 
motion them fellers where to cross.” 

“Sure !” And a man stepped forward, waved his 
hat and shouted : “The far end, pards ! — the fa-ar 
end! Ya-ah!” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


161 


'‘Say, but won’t Hawkins roar.” This was spoken 
in a whisper by a man at the back of the bunch, and 
it was passed forward with many sly glances and 
comical winks. But it did not reach Reynolds — all 
knew that it was not best to push him. 

"Say, what’s up with them fellers across yonder?” 
someone asked. 

"Act like they seen somethin, I say.” 

"They’re scarit, I reckon.” 

"Well, us fellers have nothin’ to be ashamed of. 
We bagged our game, all right. That gang yonder 
couldn’t have beat us none.” 

"Not on your life! And we had a hard gang to 
deal with, too. Them fellers was hard nuts — it took 
the right sort to land them!” 

"Yu bet! Say, we fought some, didn’t we?” 

"I’m tellin’ yu that there was a right smart of 
powder in the air for a while.” 

"Wasn’t there, fellers ? I don’t believe there ever 
was another such a fight in the State of Texas.’' 

"Well, now, there was a right smart of a fight at 
the Station that time when ” 

"Not in the dark! — not against an organized gang 
like this was ! I tell you, men, you can’t beat it !” 

"And how it did rain ! — by Jack, it just poured.” 

"Say, didn’t it ! And a blacker night I never seen 
— blacker’n a stack of black cats !” 

"And when old Lucifer spit — say, did you all 
notice how the revolvers would crack? — I learned 
that it was my move every time it light eninged.” 

"That’s right — a bullet was moral sure to come to 
that spot.” 

"Lord, it was the dandiest kind of a fight !” 

"We did well to get out of it alive — any of us.” 


162 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘‘ ’Tain’t all could have done the thing up as easy 
as we all did/' 

''The sheriff would have bungled the job." 

"Course he would ! Course he would ! — his heart 
wouldn't have been in it, like ourn was." 

"That's right, and you can't do good work if 
your heart ain't in it." 

"Yu bet yu can't ! Say, them fellers sure do see 
something." 

"Maybe it's the boys — our fellers " 

"Crickey! That's just it! It's the fellers with 
Chris I Somebody go " 

But everybody went. Everybody, except Morton, 
went to the far end of the island, where they saw, 
on the opposite bank, the men who had gone in 
search of Chris. At sight of them, the crowd began 
to shout, to dance, to howl. But those on the oppo- 
site bank did not respond. They stood as if de- 
bating. Then the boat was pushed out, while one, 
left on shore, spurred his horse into the water. As 
he drew near they recognized this man as Hawkins. 

"Hurrah!" they shouted. "Got him, did you, 
Hawkins? Got him easy, eh?" 

Hawkins spurred his horse, and landed amid a 
shower of spray. He was in a towering rage — that 
was evident at a glance. The men looked appre- 
hensively at each other. A brave one asked : 

"What's up, Hawkins? Anyone hurt?" 

"Son-of-a " roared Hawkins. "B' thunder, I 

never did see such a fool !" 

"Who? — why, did Chris show fight? — did he, 
Hawkins ?" 

"Chris ! — no, how could he ? — But that darned 
Red! — if I — We'd never had any trouble but for 


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163 


him ! We found Chris easy enough, several miles, 
though we tracked him, but we gave him all the walk 
he wanted cornin’ back. Dock and me put ropes to 
his hands, we fastened them to our saddles and let 
him run along between us — he got all the run away 
he wanted ! When we got to the river here, I said, 
'Let him swim back now, to his roost,’ and I’d have 
made him do it, but for Red’s put in. Red said 
Chris was too tired, he’d drown and a lot of rot — 
he thinks he’s the whole thing in his affair! — > 
that’s what’s the matter with him! And when I 
told him to shut his mouth, b’ thunder, he drew 
his gun on me ! Well, Chris’ll swing the moment he 
lands. Get a ro ” 

"No, he’ll not,” said Red calmly from the boat, 
where he was supporting the exhausted form of 
Chris. "He’ll be turned over to the sheriff.” 

"Here is the sheriff now,” said one of the party. 

And there he was, with his score or more of 
deputies, just coming up on the sand bar. 

Hawkins fell back a step, so complete was his sur- 
prise. He looked around at the crowd and the truth 
seemed to burst in upon him. 

"Yu have hung the others !” he yelled, springing 
at the man nearest to him. "Tell me that yu have 
hung every one of them !” 

The man he grasped was too much surprised to 
answer, and no one else spoke, save to the sheriff, a 
few quiet "Good mornings.” 

Hawkins released his man and faced his recreant 
troop, his hand on his gun. For a breathless mo- 
ment no one was sure that he would not shoot. 
Then curses began to boil from his mouth — a 
bubbling, trembling flood and hot as fire. And then, 


164 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


before anyone realized his intention, he was on his 
horse and in the water. 

They watched him go, then at a sound faced 
about. There was Morton, with the prisoners march- 
ing three abreast before him. He turned them over 
to the sheriff, and then passed noiselessly among the 
men. 

“Keep mum about the still,’’ he said. “Keep 
mum.” 

“But Red told him. He knows — Red told him.” 

“He ain’t seen it. Keep mum as horses. I’ll fix 
it.” 

They did. Departure was soon made from the 
island, and as the men separated at the Station, it 
was observed that the sheriff and his party took 
the road to Morton’s. But the Major reckoned 
without his host that day. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“yu can say red to me.” 

The schoolhouse sat squat upon the meadow of 
the Belknap. Back of it were low hills, and then 
the endless prairie; before it the stream wound its 
way, screened by willows, all trimmed and polished 
by the rough, itching sides of wondering cattle, leav- 
ing only a tuft of leaves at the tip, where a flock of 
blackbirds sat to rock and chirp. 

Birch Halloway sat on the stoop before the door, 
listlessly watching the birds. It was Monday, and 
the noon intermission. The pupils, whose bobbing 
heads were visible here and there, were playing in 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


16 S 


scattered groups. Presently the birds arose in a 
chattering flock, and from the willows issued a tall, 
sleek, yellow-red steer. He stood, for a moment, 
head up, gazing at the building, which, though three 
months built, was yet undimmed by rain, and stood 
in all the glory of new lumber, bright, broad, un- 
usual. The steer gazed and tossed his head, armed 
with white, spreading horns, tipped with black. 
Birch sat in mute admiration of his splendid lines 
and kingly bearing. While she gazed another steer 
issued forth, further down, and at once the air 
seemed to vibrate — a sound came as of a score of 
men in distress. The little teacher felt a sweep of 
alarm; she pressed her hands to her breast; she 
thought of fire. But this was not a city, and there 
was no fire company beyond that wall of willows to 
shriek and shout, — if a fire should come across this 
wild prairie! 

But now the sound increased to a sullen roar, the 
shouts grew louder, the earth trembled. Beside the 
leader-steer several appeared at once, pushing him 
on. As he felt the touch of comrades at his sides 
he came forward, straight toward the schoolhouse, 
while behind him was a level of heads and horns. 
Miss Halloway gave a shriek — it was cattle — a great 
herd ! 

The shriek brought the groups of children clamor- 
ing up. The little girls ran to their teacher, the boys 
stood and stared at the cattle. None of them shared 
Miss Halloway’s fright — cattle were no new thing 
to them. But she was entirely numb with fear ; her 
powers seemed to forsake her utterly ; she could not 
move, she could only scream. She did not know 
what she said, but it was effectual. The boys came 


166 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


running in, all save one small one, who stood still, 
fascination seeming to have stopped his ears. 

The cattle came with a rush, the earth quivered, 
dust and the sickening odor of grass filled the air. 
The great leader, with head lowered ominously, 
swung aside from his course, and still with his com- 
rades touching his sides, still with that great moving 
body of heads and horns and hoofs thundering be- 
hind him, strode like death toward the child. 

Miss Halloway ’s voice was hushed. For a fleet- 
ing instant night fell on her eyes and all her 
faculties. Then she sprang from the stoop, her very 
being palpitating with terror for the boy. Self was 
eclipsed — what were the cattle, the horns, the roar ! 
She must save little Tommy ! She must ! ‘‘Oh 

The last was a shriek. She was on the ground, 
running toward the helpless child, when all at once 
a rush of air fairly swept her back, a dark object 
loomed before her eyes, and her feet, and hands and 
body seemed wrapped and bound in something that 
burned and stung. She sank down. The children 
gathered around her, some laughing, others crying. 
She felt their hands and saw their faces above her, 
but she seemed swimming away out of the world. 
Then she heard a child’s scream — it brought her 
back ; she struggled to her feet. And at once before 
her eyes appeared again that dark object. She re- 
coiled a step, and saw, where she had stood, a coil 
of rope lying like a discarded skirt. 

“Here is the boy, ma’am — er — Miss. I hope yu 
ain’t no more hurt than him.” 

It was a man’s voice, strong, kind and respectful. 
Miss Halloway heard it, and her nerves steadied a 
little. She found herself holding little Tommy, and 


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167 


laughing and crying as she hugged him. He was not 
hurt — he was not even frightened. And now the 
man spoke again. 

‘'I hope my rope didn't trip yu, Miss. I had to 
stop yu quick, yu know. One steer, or a dozen, 
would have run away from yu, but two or three 
hundred cayn't." 

She let the boy go — put him away from her. She 
saw the cattle, a retreating circle of backs and tails, 
and saw that the black object before her was a horse, 
and that it was puffing and reeking wet with sweat. 
She saw the man, that he was a cowboy ; she beheld 
his spurs, his revolver, his coarse garb, his dark, 
tanned skin. Her gaze dropped. Self came back 
with a rush and a new fear possessed her — she was 
alone with a cowboy! What might he say or do? 
Where were the children? But he spoke again 
kindly. 

‘'I hope yu are not hurt. Miss." 

Hurt? — was she? No, she was not hurt. His 
voice was respectful, he even seemed eager to know 
that she was unharmed. She raised her eyes to his. 

“Oh, it is yu — ^yu!" 

The flood of emotion now burst over the will that 
had held it. She sprang forward, she grasped his 
saddle, she clung to his knee. 

“It is yu!" And now her voice was a strained 
whisper. “Yu who saved little Tommy — yu who 
saved me — oh, thank yu ! Thank yu, Mr. Red, thank 
yu !" 

Red's pulses bounded. To have her so near to 
him — this goddess ! The very sight of her standing 
inside of her father’s gate had set him burning to 
the core. Her presence had haunted him day and 


168 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


night since, making his hopes to soar and his ambi- 
tions to double. And now ! — Now she was touching 
him, clinging to him! There were tears in those 
heavenly eyes — it seemed that he must say some- 
thing, must do something. But intuition told him 
not. She would count it an impertinence as soon as 
she recovered herself. She was overwrought now, 
and unstrung, and being in that condition had given 
him a glimpse into her inmost mind. He knew now 
that she had thought of him often, until he seemed 
no stranger, though they had met but the once. This 
was enough for him to learn this time. So he 
controlled himself, and when he spoke he gravely 
said : 

‘T don’t need thanks. Miss, but since yu offer 
them ril accept. We never should have driven them 
cattle in here to frighten yu all like this. We should 
have known that the schoolhouse was here, and gone 
below.” 

She stood still and sighed heavily. ‘Tt was not 
your fault, — or the fault of any one. There are 
cattle about here all the time — three or four, or ten, 
— but they always run away when I shoo them with 
my apron.” 

Bless her heart 1 Red swallowed hard twice, and 
dared not then to trust himself to speak. 

'T am not afraid of cattle,” she continued. ‘'When 
I am on a horse I like to drive them, — the Morton 
children and I ride out among the cattle sometimes. 
Yu must not think ” 

She paused. Red dared not yet to speak, so she 
decided that he did “think” something, and she tried 
to remove it from his mind. 

“I am not so foolish as a rule. But to-day — oh, 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


169 


yu will not understand/’ and she gave him a pathetic 
little smile, ''but I did not get to go home last Friday 
— the wind blew so hard — and it seems a long time 
since I had anything to — I mean since I saw anyone, 
and I am so — so hungry !” 

"Yu are stayin’ at Morton’s?” 

"Yes.” Their eyes met in deep understanding 
over this fact. 

Red resolutely looked away. Poor little girl ! She 
was hungry, and so tantalizingly sad and sweet. He 
permitted himself to look at her again — to smile 
down upon her. 

She took co.urage at his smile to say, in a low 
voice, while her full white throat was lifted before 
him : 

"We do not have food at Morton’s — we have 
provendah.” 

"Yes, ma’am.” 

Red’s heart was pounding like an engine. He 
could not stand this any longer. He gathered up the 
reins to start. She stepped back hurriedly, but said : 

"Thank yu again — thank yu so much for what yu 
did.” 

"Yes-sum. And thank yu, too. Miss, for remem- 
berin’ me.” 

Remembering him! Why — here came an abrupt 
memory that she had seen the young man but once 
before! — that he had never been presented to her! 
And now she hurriedly rehearsed the adventure 
from the beginning and found one or two further 
disquieting circumstances — how she had clung to his 
knees, for instance, and her tears. She could not be 
certain just what she said at first, either, for she had 
been very much unstrung. She wondered what he 


170 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


must think of her, and, so wondering, rang the bell. 
At afternoon recess she took the trouble to assure 
herself that she did not care what he thought. A 
very effectual precaution, as anyone of us could bear 
witness. 

Red, too, reviewed the adventure, as he rode on 
after the cattle. In a few miles he had become 
serious and stern with himself. ''I have no time 

foah love now,’' he said. ‘"Aftah a while ” But 

here his mind trailed off on what was come to be an 
old subject with him — a review of Birch’s charms. 
There was no end to this — he had never found an 
end in all the days and nights that he had dreamed 
of her since that first meeting. And to-day! — now 
that she had touched him, and he had seen her close 
— close. But just then a young willow grouse flew 
up from the wake of the cattle. His revolver spoke 
and the bird tumbled headless into the grass. He 
dressed it, and wrapped it neatly in paper. After 
that he whistled and sang. 

And since all this had happened, it was not 
strange that when Miss Birch arose next morning, 
she found at the door of her room a package 
ascribed in a fair hand to ‘‘Miss Halloway.” She 
opened it in wonder — then flew to the kitchen. She 
told me afterward that '‘it saved my veah life, that 
bird.” 

"Morton.’s are very poor,” I said, and told her 
about the girl asking the Major if they might have 
ham for supper on the occasion of my visit. 

Birch said nothing. But she became suddenly 
very schoolma’amish and severe around the mouth, 
and the glance she gave me was full of things un- 
speakable. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


171 


Afterward I ate at Morton’s. And after that, I 
learned that the Major was commonly regarded as 
one of the wealthiest men in th Red River country. 
Then I understood the thing which Red had read at 
a glance. 

Birch always spoke of going to her school as 
'‘going to her fast.” But she took care, after her 
two weeks’ experience, to carry with her cakes, nuts 
and like things from home, and her larder continued 
at intervals to be supplied, in the small hours of the 
night, with grouse, quail, and even hunks of venison. 
Birch grew plump and rosy, and looked every inch 
a princess. I told her so, and told her that I hoped 
that Red would see her soon and verify the state- 
ment. 

He did. I do not know how he contrived it, or 
how far he rode ; for he was cow-punching that fall 
for Dock, and the cattle were ranging west. But 
one day he rode up to the door of the schoolhouse. 
He planned to reach there at four o’clock, but the 
sun was hidden, and, like many another young man 
a-wooing bent, he was early. School was in session. 
Birch answered the mild rap he gave. 

She was surprised to find it was he, and gave a 
delightful little "O-oo !” at sight of him. Then, as 
a token of her pleasure, she extended her hand. 

He lifted his hat as he took it, standing a spurred, 
cartridge-belted giant on the step at the door. 

"How is Tawmmy?” he gravely inquired. 

"Tommy is well — thank yu,” said Birch, a little 
flurried by his ardent glance. 

"Yu are lookin’ well, too. Miss.” 

There was no mistaking the admiration that ac- 
companied these words, and Birch blushed, as she 


172 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


should have done, and thereby rendered herself 
altogether adorable in his eyes. Then, in her best 
schoolma’am manner, she asked him in. 

‘‘Not to-day, I thank yu. Miss. Til just wait out- 
side here.’’ 

She looked at him. She was a little puzzled by 
his words. Her eyes shone with an unusual 
brilliancy. 

He turned his hat in his hands nervously. “I 
thought I’d just stop. Will yu come a-ridin’ aftah 
school. Miss?” 

“Why ” Birch became nervous in her turn. 

“I should like to, but ” 

“It’s the prettiest kind of an evenin’ — and yu 
haven’t had a bird for a right smart while. Miss.” 

“O-oo ! Would we — could I go with yu to kill — 
to get one ?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I thought yu might like that.” His 
face was very eager. 

“Indeed, I should like it, and if Jimmy Mor- 
ton ” Then remembering suddenly, she broke 

off to thank him for the game he had brought to 
her. 

“It ain’t worth mentionin’,” he protested. 

“But it is — yu have saved my life twice — several 
times — I really was famished. Am I always to be 
indebted to yu?” 

He looked at her and his hands moved slowly 
round his hat brim. “I hope so, ma’am,” he said. 

She laughed softly. “But yu must let me do some- 
thing for yu in return — there must be something yu 
need done — mending, buttons? — I can darn splen- 
didly.” 

“Yes, ma’am, but I can’t have yu doin’ them 


ALONG THE UPPER TRAIL 


173 


things foah me, ma’am.’" Then, noticing her dis- 
appointment, he added hastily, ''Yu see, I am a- 
bunkin’ a right smart ways from here.” 

"Are yu? How far?” 

"Several houahs’ ride,” said he, evasively. 

"Several houahs’ ride — dear me, how explicit,” 
said Birch, coquettishly. "Several means four or 
five usually, and — how many miles do yu ride an 
houah ?” 

"Yu will nevah get at it that a-way,” said Red, 
coloring. "And it’s no matter at all, — only if I was 
nearer I could bring yu a bird oftener.” 

"But yu must not ride for 'several houahs’ just to 
bring me a bird — think of your poor horse.” 

"I do, most times. Miss.” 

His meaning was clear to the girl — that in this he 
thought only of her. She could not restrain a flash 
of pleasure — it shone in her eyes, she knew it did. 
She spoke hurriedly. 

"But yu really must not do it any more, Mistah — ; 
Mistah Red,” she said, with an air of positiveness. 

Red looked reproachfully at her. "I thought yu 
wanted to do something foah me. Miss,” he said. 

"I do, indeed I do,’^ said Birch, falling readily into 
this trap. 

"Then let me go on bringin’ yu birds — when I 
can.” 

A little laugh rippled from the girl’s lips. "Yu 
are very clevah,” she said archly. "I acknowledge 
my defeat.” 

"Then I may?” 

"Yu may, Mistah Red.” 

"And yu will go with me this time ?” 

"This evening?” Birch puckered her brow — she 


174 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


had long since determined to go with him, but she 
assumed an air of reflection. ‘'Well, since yu have 
come so far, I will go with yu,” she said finally. 

Red’s eyes shone. “Thank yu. Miss,” he said. “I 
will be a-goin’ or I will delay your classes. I will 
bring your hawss ovah here to yu. Miss.” 

“Oh, — why so yu can ! Only — well, all right.” 
And she disappeared indoors. 

Red vaulted into his saddle. He was happy enough 
to have leaped over the schoolhouse itself. His 
horse knew his mood and darted away at top speed. 
Birch, on the stoop, screamed after him, but he did 
not hear ; he was dashing up the trail toward Mor- 
ton’s. 

Birch hurried her classes. Now that she had 
committed herself to go with Red, she was troubled 
a little in conscience. It was not at all proper. But 
— well, she was so lonely and the evenings were so 
long. There was no one to talk to at Morton’s, and 
— this would be such fun! If — but here she called 
the primer class. 

“He is a gentleman, and he certainly is hand- 
some,” she told herself between the first primer 
class and the second one, “and I will find out on this 
ride just who and what he is. If he is at all intel- 
lectual I can help him to — to make something of 
himself. I need not go with him again if — what 
would he be like in a parlor?” 

Birch sat at her desk smiling. The second primer 
class was over and she was thinking. “He said he 
thought of his horse ‘most times.’ When he said 
that he looked — what is it. Tommy?” Her thoughts 
were interrupted, for Tommy, seeing his teacher’s 
mood reflected pleasantly in her face, suddenly dis- 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


175 


covered that he was very thirsty. He received gra- 
cious permission to get a drink. 

Wise Tommy ! Foolish Birch ! While Tommy's 
heavy shoes thumped noisily over the rough floor, 
Birch resolved to be very nice to the cowboy Red — 
since he was so gentlemanly — and to treat him as 
she would a young boy, to instruct him, correct him 
and set him good example, the while she enjoyed his 
cheery manner, his soft, musical voice, his unusual 
speech and manly strength. And she thought, ‘T 
will keep all the dignity of the schoolma'am between 
us. Jimmy shall go with us — Red should have 
waited until I told him so." 

So it was with a very serene air that Miss Hallo- 
way bade her pupils good night and prepared to go 
for a ride with her cowboy friend. When she found 
him waiting, with her horse, standing ready for 
mounting at the stoop, she gave a little gasp of sur- 
prise. 

''O-oo! So yu brought a horse for Jimmy? I 
came back to tell yu to do so, but yu had started." 

‘T ask pardon, ma’am. Yu mentioned it before." 

‘‘Did I? Then I forgot, I guess. Come on, 
Jimmy." 

They rode down the creek, following no trail, her 
horse keeping beside Red’s as they passed through 
the green meadow grass. Then they rode in among 
the willows. The stream was wider here, and the 
horses splashed into the clear water. Birch’s would 
stop to drink. The girl looked at the cowboy and 
found him regarding her gravely. 

“I am so glad we came," she said. 

“Thank yu, ma’am — er. Miss." 

“Now yu are not to call me ‘ma’am’ or ‘Miss,’ 


176 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


either/' said Birch, beginning at once on her pre- 
arranged programme. '‘It sounds like — like I was 
old." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Birch laughed, and the sound was as joyful as the 
song of a free bird. The constraint of the school- 
room was wholly off her now. The Morton boy had 
appropriately fallen behind, and she could expand 
and luxuriate in soft air of the autumn evening. She 
drank in deep breaths and her bosom rose and fell ; 
the pink in her cheeks deepened to scarlet, her lips 
parted and her eyes shone. She turned in her saddle 
with a little impulsive movement that displayed 
every charm of her being. 

"Call me Miss Halloway," she said. 

This time Red did not answer. In fact there were 
many times during that first ride with her when Red 
was so rapt with admiration that he was speechless. 

"Yu must address me as Miss Halloway," she re- 
peated with an air that was maddening to him, 
"and I shall call yu Mistah — what shall I say?" 

"Yu can say Red to me." 

"But I don't like it," she temporized. 

He smiled at her, then said respectfully: "If yu 
want to now, we'll take a turn around in this brush 
and I'll get yu that bird." 

Birch agreed readily. They found the bird and 
he dressed it and made it ready for her, as he had 
done the others. Then he showed her how to hold 
his revolver, and she fired it several times. He was 
very thoughtful of her pleasure — she had never been 
out with a more gentlemanly escort. But she did 
not forget that he had refused to tell her his name. 
The act surprised and puzzled her. But she did not 


THE UPPER TRAIL 177 

let it mar her pleasure in this one — she told herself 
there could be no other — ride with him. Nor did 
she give up hope of learning his identity until she 
had employed every artifice known to the feminine 
mind to trick the information from him. At last, 
when they were on the return trail, she put it very 
bluntly to him : 

'‘I have enjoyed this ride more than anything 
since — since my school began, and — and I have per- 
mitted yu to make it long because it is to be the last.’’ 

In his complete dismay he stopped his horse. ''I 
hoped I had pleased yu, ma’am,” he said wishfully. 
‘'I tried to, harder than I ever tried befoah, I 
reckon.” 

‘'Yu have succeeded admirably,” she told him, 
with a little air of loftiness. “But I cannot go riding 
with a man whose name I do not know.” 

“Now then yu are cornin’ to the point in all this,” 
he said seriously, yet with an air of evident relief. 
“My name — I might give yu anybody’s and yu’d not 
know the difference. But the man — yu know the 
man yu are ridin’ with. And every time yu see that 
man yu will know him bettah. Ain’t that nearer the 
point than me tellin’ you that my name is Brown, or 
Smith?” 

“Oh, yes, — but knowing a man’s family is ” 

“Yes, my folks. I knowed — I knew that yu was 
wantin’ to know that. Yu want to judge me by my 
fambly. I don’t want to be judged that a-way. I 
want to be judged by what I am — ^by what I make 
of myself. It’s a Western notion, I know, but — 
don’t yu feel it in yu? When yu teach that school 
and get your money, don’t yu feel like yu had sort 
of taken root out in the clearin’, and was growin’ 


178 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


into a big tree that can stand alone through sun and 
storm? And don’t yu feel independent and strong, 
knowin’ that yu are no longer a branch of some- 
thing, but are the whole thing yourself?” 

''Oh, I do !” cried Birch enthusiastically. "And I 
want to be — to go ” 

She stopped. He had not told her what his ambi- 
tion was — he had merely let her know that he had 
one. So she paused an instant to curb her enthusi- 
asm, and then said : 

"Of course I feel as yu say, and I feel it more 
and more each day. I am more certain each day 
that I can be whatever I will. But that does not cause 
me to feel ashamed of my — to wish to conceal my 
identify. I know that it is because of what my 
parents are that I can hope to be anything of conse- 
quence.” 

"Yes, — ^but cayn’t yu see how it is with me?” 
There was a note of pleading in his voice, and he 
looked at her direct as he put the words to her that 
he once had put to me: "If yu cayn’t like me as 
Red, how could yu like me as Mister somebody?” 

Birch was as serious over this as he. "I do like yu 
as Red,” she said simply. 

"Thank yu, ma’am.” 

The words were direct and positive. She had 
given him something — something that he wanted 
very much, and he thanked her for her gift. His 
assurance startled the girl. She led hastily out of 
this serious vein, saying lightly: 

"Am I to have no reward? I spoke in the hope 
that yu would reward my candor with like coin.” 

Red looked at her. "Yes, ma’am, I will do that,” 
he replied. "I like yu bettah than I like anything 
else in the world,” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


179 


Birch laughed ; she blushed furiously, and bit her 
lip. ''Yu know — ^yu must have known that I did not 
mean — I — yu are — I must be getting back.’’ 

She urged her horse to a canter, then to a gallop. 
He kept close to her side, but words were almost 
impossible, so great was their speed. Finally, on an 
up-grade, he said : 

"Would yu really feel bettah about this. Miss, if I 
was to tell yu now that I am ” 

"I do not wish to know anything about yu,” she 
replied haughtily, but slackened her speed. 

"Morton knows me — yu need only to ask 
him ” 

"I will not do that,” she flashed. "If yu will not 
tell me, I shall drop the subject from my mind.” 

He looked at her and his heart swelled with pride 
of her. "You’re a gentleman !” he exclaimed. 

She drew breath for a quick retort, but the words 
died at her lips. He was a gentleman — always had 
been with her. Was she behaving like a gentle- 
woman, going off in a huff this way? She did not 
know just what she ought to do — she nervously 
flickered the reins. 

"Yu would not know my folks, I reckon, if I was 
to tell yu ouah name,” said he, so quietly that she 
turned to him, wondering if it might be that his 
people were dead. 

"I — know the people of the neighborhood,” she 
replied, her tone quiet like his. "We have visited at 
the ranches — at Reynolds’ and Hawkins’, at Lever- 
ing’s and at Darling’s, and I know a great many by 
— by reputation.” 

"Yes, ma’am. So yu all have visited at Lever- 
ing’s ?” 


180 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘‘Yes, — why, did yu think ’’ she flashed, and 

then checked herself. “Oh, well, no mattah what yu 
thought. I am not going to quarrel with yu again,” 
and she sighed. 

“Thank yu. But I did not think what yu had in 
mind,” said Red, and smiled shyly at her. 

“No?” She laughed. “Well, then, we are quite 
friends — the two families are. And I love the girls, 
Joseph and Eunice. And I love the house, and the 
dog, and Uncle Levi — I believe I love everything at 
Levering’s.” 

“I am goin’ there,” said Red, pointedly. 

“Then I shall have to make one exception,” said 
Birch saucily. Then added : “I went down there two 
weeks ago for the week^s end. Mother sent an 
escort. I am going again, soon.” 

“Do yu know when. Miss ? — f oah then your 
mothah would not need to send an escort.” 

She looked at him. Did he mean that he would 
accompany her to Levering's ? How it would shock 
Joseph to see them come riding up the lane, she and 
this cowboy ! Birch wished that it might be so— she 
did not attempt to deceive herself into thinking that 
she did not. But, of course, it could not be. 

“No-o, I do not know just when I shall go,’' she 
said guardedly. And then, with well-measured 
mockery, “If yu had told me your name I could send 
yu word.” 

“Send it to ‘Red,’ — nobody in the State of Texas 
could claim it exceptin’ me. Miss,” he stated eagerly. 

She laughed at him, and told him that she “would 
do no such thing.” Then bade him good evening at 
the corral corner. He rode away in the dusk toward 
that vast plain of which she knew so little. She 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


181 


vowed, as she watched him go, that she would think 
no more of him. But when a month passed and she 
did not see him, she gave a dainty missive to the 
Morton children, with directions that they send it 
to the Station to post. On it was the one word, 
‘^Red.^’ 

He replied to it in person. But over that meeting 
between the cowboy and the schoolma’am, and 
several others which followed it in rapid succession 
— they were holding Dock's herd nearer to the 
Belknap now — the curtain of secrecy is drawn. Cer- 
tain results are known, however. Birch came home 
one week and was as gay and full of witchery as a 
siren ; the next week she was irritable and preoccu- 
pied. She was, however, hungry each time she 
came, and, as I pointed out to Mrs. Halloway, when 
that lady spoke of entertaining concern for her 
daughter's health, there could be nothing serious so 
long as her appetite was unaffected. 

One week she brought us news of a dance at Mor- 
ton's. She had, perforce, attended it. It was awful, 
she said, and then assured me that she had never 
enjoyed anything so much. She seemed delight- 
fully unaware of the incongruity of the two state- 
ments. But I learned more about this dance when 
at Red River Station. I rode in for my mail, and 
looked in on a game of cards while my horse ate his 
grain. Sleepy was there, and his was the only 
familiar face. With his long fingers he was hope- 
fully and profitably manipulating the cards. But he 
took time to tell me that he had been ''among 'em" at 
Morton's ‘"hop," he called it. He had "seen the 
schoolma'am," and he informed me with perfect 
gravity, that it "took time for a man to get to dancin' 


182 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


with her — ^he had to construct an approach first — 
Red had his’n built, so got all the dances — him and 
fambly men like Hawkins and them.’’ Morton had 
served whiskey at his dance, so Sleepy said, and it 
was liquor which he had taken from the island. 
But he — Sleepy — had no kick coming, for he got all 
he wanted and rolled up in his blankets till dawn 
woke him. Some did kick, though, and kick hard, 
against Morton, for when he brought the whiskey in, 
the schoolma’am ''recollected that she had to go to 
her room and change her mind, or somethin’ else, 
and she never came out no more.” 

I did not repeat the above to Mrs. Halloway, for 
fear of causing her unnecessary uneasiness. But 
when Birch came home, I began, in a bantering way, 
to question her about the dance. To my surprise, 
she would tell me nothing. And when I pressed her, 
she left me abruptly and went into the house. A 
few minutes later, her mother informed me that 
Birch was crying, and "seemed not to know the 
cause of her grief.” She dispatched a servant in 
search of Col. Halloway. What means he employed 
to allay his wife’s fear and assuage his daughter’s 
grief, I do not know, but the feat was accomplished, 
and we assembled at dinner a happy, conciliated 
family. But when, in the middle of the week, in- 
telligence reached us that Miss Birch would spend 
Saturday and Sabbath at Levering’s, and that no 
escort need be sent to attend her, Mrs. Halloway 
became really alarmed for her daughter’s safety, and 
dispatched me post haste to accompany her to 
Levering’s. 

I suspected the true state of affairs, and when I 
found them — Red and Birch — cantering along, side 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


183 


by side, on the Upper Trail, I greeted both warmly, 
and rode on ahead. They followed slowly. Often 
I was a mile ahead. But when I reached the lane, 
I waited for them to come up. Like Birch, I sup- 
posed that the cowboy Red would venture no nearer 
than this to the aristocratic precincts of the Lever- 
ings. 

At precisely that moment, back on the trail, an 
interesting little scene was being enacted. 

‘'Tell me now that yu are goin’ to love me. Miss 
Halloway,’' Red pleaded, his hand on the reins of 
her horse. “If I could make yu know how much I 
want yu to tell me now — ^befoah we get there.” 

“Perhaps I am never going to tell yu such a 
thing,” said Birch, but never lifted her eyes from 
studying the back of his hand. 

“Yes, yu are. Yu cannot look at me now, and tell 
me that — darling.” 

“I told yu that yu must not call me that,” said 
Birch, properly severe. 

“I know, but — Birch !” 

He took one of her small hands in his — he com- 
pelled her to look at him. She could not stand his 
eyes an instant. 

“Don’t! Oh, Red, yu ” 

“Do I frighten yu, dear ? — it is because my love is 
so strong. Birch, tell me now — ^befoah we get ” 

“Yes, — ‘before we get to the bend’ — ‘before we 
get to the corner,’ ” Birch mimicked. 

“But this is not like them times — this is last time. 
Darling, tell me now, that yu love me, Birch !” 

His appeal would have moved a stone image. 
Upon the schoolma’am, Birch, however, it had no 
effect. Or rather, I had better say, whatever effect 


184 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


it had, she contrived not to display. She sat silent, 
looking ahead. 

His love drove him. It gave him no rest. Never 
in his life had he wanted anything as he wanted a 
little “Yes’’ from this girl now. He must have it 
now. A few minutes more and half of the sweet- 
ness of it would be gone — lost to him forever. 

“Birch !” he cried, and laid a hand in an agony of 
appeal upon her shoulder. 

The agony in his voice and the sudden touch 
startled the girl. She turned toward him, her horse 
stumbled, she lost her balance and fell backward 
toward him. 

He caught her, held her. He murmured words of 
assurance. “Yu are not hurt — yu are not goin’ to 
fall. See! — now your foot is free. There, now I 
have yu — and yu are all right, sweetheart.” 

I saw that they had stopped, and that one horse 
was riderless, so hurried back to see what had hap- 
pened. Red stood holding Birch, who leaned against 
him, while he poured a torrent of love in her ears. 
He blamed himself for the accident. He had been a 
selfish, senseless brute. He would not pester her 
any more. And then he began all over again with 
his torrent of love, and his b^eseeching that she love 
him — that she love him now. 

Birch appeared oblivious to everything. Her hat 
was on the ground and her head on Red’s breast. I 
asked if she were hurt — she did not answer. But 
the expression of her side face was not that of pain. 

“She will be all right again in a minute,” I said to 
Red. And began to straighten the saddle and tighten 
the girth on her horse. As I worked, I heard a little, 
delighted word: 


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185 


'^Red r 

‘'Tell me now” he whispered. 

There was no other sound. When I looked they 
were standing apart, but were gazing into each 
other’s eyes, as rapt as though gazing into heaven 
itself. His head was bent — hers was lifted, their 
lips were very close. She put a hand up and softly 
touched his cheek. But she did not speak the word 
he longed for, and he did not kiss her. 

We left the broad, beaten trail and rode into the 
tree-bordered, leaf-strewn lane. Pigeons flew about 
over our heads, and song birds, new-arrived from 
Northern groves, piped an evening serenade from 
every nook and branch. Further on we overtook 
and passed the stately procession of geese. Birch 
shooed vigorously at the proud gander, but that 
composed general paid not the slightest attention to 
this childish outbursts in the little school teacher. 
She turned to us, her eyes dancing. 

“Joseph has been teaching him a creed — all, all is 
vanity,” she said, with a gay laugh. 

Red gave me a glance as mischievous as a boy. 
“There is right smart of similarity between the two 
of them,” he said to the girl. 

“Do yu know Joseph?” Birch asked. And she and 
I, thinking that Red surely would go no further, 
stopped our horses. 

He rode on, however, and with feelings of 
mingled pleasure and dismay we followed. 

“These here old plantation homes has a charm 
about them that a fello’ cayn’t quite put into words,” 
said he, as he lifted his hat and carefully smoothed 
his red hair. “When I come along here, I a-most 
wish that I had lived a thousand years ago, and had 
a-been a knight or a prince.” 


186 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


We were at the gate when he ceased speaking. It 
was invitingly open. Inside the watchdog barked a 
clamorous call to the household. Obedient to it, 
Uncle Levi shambled forward, his hat in his hand, 
and almost immediately Mrs. Levering and her 
daughters appeared on the veranda. Birch began 
cooing her delight at everything. Then there was 
a cry, and a sudden rush of skirts. I beheld Mrs. 
Levering in Red’s arms ! 

‘'My son ! My son !” she cried. 

“Mothah.” 

Red patted her shoulder lovingly, and laid his 
hand reverently on her snow-white hair. Eunice 
ran to him, and he released his mother to catch his 
sister in his arms, and then to swing her on his 
shoulder as if she were a mere infant. Looking for 
Joseph, I saw her returning to the house. But Red 
apparently did not notice her absence. He turned 
from Eunice to the friendly dog, and the two had a 
great romp. Birch touched my arm, and looking 
into her face, I found it aglow with joy, though her 
eyes were full of tears. 

Red appeared beside the girl. ‘T ask pardon,” he 
said humbly. ‘T haven’t been home befoah in a 
right smart while. Will yu get down now. Miss ?” 

‘T — I am so glad that yu came — with me,” said 
Birch tremulously, as he lifted her from the saddle. 

“But yu would not say the word I wanted,” he 
said, his face suddenly grave. 

“Some things,” she murmured, her face lifted to 
him, “some things do not need to be put into words, 
Red.” 

A pulse of joy shot across his face, but he re- 
strained himself like a Spartan. When she had 


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187 


turned from him, he wheeled away from the com- 
pany, and lifting his hat, raised his glowing face to 
heaven. 

''Red,’’ thought I, as I looked at him standing 
there, his every lineament one of grace, beauty and 
power, "you need not long to have been a prince of 
a past age — you are one of the present.” I would 
gladly have taken his place and his chance in life 
that day ! 


CHAPTER X. 

THE PARABLE OF THE TUMBLE WEED. 

"Dear Sir and Friend (thus in due time Red 
wrote me), I will keep my word and tell you about 
the trial. It is over, and the Skunk Island gang is 
in the pen. All except Logan ; he got away. That 
sheriff is — but then you know already what I think 
of him. The still, and such as was left on the island, 
has been burned. I reckon you know more about 
that than I do. And I guess you know about how 
Morton took it. He said more than he ought. Him 
and me don’t speak none yet. I’m watching him 
these days. But I don’t think you ever saw through 
Morton. Logan will show up there when he comes 
back to Texas. He will come back, all right. Him 
and me will meet again. I ain’t dreadin’ it none. 

"I am still punchin’ for Dock. He has increased 
his herd, and we are doin’ something like. He has 
been to Mobile again. We devil him a lot about his 
fambly there. He is a blame sight cleaner than some 
that won’t sleep none with a nigger. 

"My folks is well, as are all. My sister Joseph 


188 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


speaks of you. I am a plumb disapintment to her. 
I don’t see the Halloways or Miss Birch as much as 
I would like. I am the head of the gang here, and 
don’t get off very often — cows eat Sundays and 
Mondays the same. She is wearing my ring. I 
want you back when that day comes.” 

Here this letter ended, and I was for many days 
hungry for the sight of Texas. I eased my longing 
as best I could by writing a long letter to Red. In it 
I frankly admitted a fact, which he had known, it 
seemed, almost from the start, and which you have 
no doubt guessed — that my business in Texas con- 
cerned bootlegging, which had gone on for years. 
The worst feature of the case was the traffic with 
Indians, and the whiskey always came from the 
South — this was about as much as the Department 
officers knew about it. But with the raiding of the 
Skunk Island gang, the traffic ceased, and I, being 
on the ground, got the credit. And when, after sev- 
eral months, the trade was opened up, I was duly 
notified. Almost the next post after the letter from 
the Department, one came from Red. It was quite 
correct in composition beside the other, showing 
plainly that its author had been improving his mental 
equipment. It ran thus: 

‘‘Dear Friend: — ^You had better come back here. 
Things need looking after some. This time I can 
give you information, and I am the only man that 
can. I am cow-punching on the R2 rancho. It is 
a fine ranch, and the Llano Estacado is sure enough 
interesting country, and fine for cows. But I will be 
home in two weeks. If you can come then, I can see 
you at the Station. Do not bring no pills and such 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


189 


stuff down here. Doctoring ain’t what you need. I 
know a better cure than them. The matter I re- 
ferred to needs immediate attention. I hope to see 
you soon.” 

His hope was mine. I wired the Department that 
I had an important clue, and started at once for 
Texas. I found Red River Station as I had left it. 
Its population was about the same, and there was an 
increased number of negroes. There was now a 
saloon for them. The outer rim of refuse had also 
increased. 

True to his word. Red Levering met me there. 
There was a change in him — I felt rather than saw 
the thing. The red of his hair was the same, but his 
nose seemed longer, and his person had widened, 
though he had lost some bulk. But strength was 
written all over him in the same bold print. His 
personality had deepened also, and there was a new 
note of power in his voice. There was a new look in 
his eyes, too, one of sadness, and new lines of stern- 
ness about the mouth. Only his smile was the same, 
and when laughter took him, sternness and sadness 
were eclipsed by whole-hearted mirthfulness seldom 
seen in a man. And I said to him : 

‘‘No one would call you a boy now, Red.” 

‘Tt has been a right smart while since I was called 
that,” he replied. ''Even my folks have dropped the 
idea.” 

We were walking across the Greyhound to my 
room. I asked about his sisters and mother, and he 
answered me. Then there was an interval of silence 
between us. I waited for him to speak. As he did 
not, I said : 

"So you broke down another schoolhouse door?” 


190 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


He stopped in his tracks. ‘'Who told yu that 

“Your letter/’ I responded, enjoying his surprise. 

“My lettah ? — I don’t recollect ” And then he 

smiled at me. “I didn’t know that it made that 
much difference,” he said, pleased. “I sure must 
have been bad before.” 

“I am glad for you,” I replied heartily. “And I 
am glad to see that school did not spoil your natural 
simplicity and directness. I was afraid it might — 
college probably would.” 

He took a chair and sat looking directly at me, but 
I could see that my words had set his mind on 
another subject than school. After a long minute of 
silence he spoke out on that subject, beginning 
abruptly : 

“I wrote to you to come down here, and I am glad 
I did it. And glad I did it right when I did, or it 
would nevah have been done. I have been home a 

week ” He paused and looked hard at the 

floor. “It has only been a week,” resumed sadly, 
“just one week, but things are changed now. I’ve 
had trouble before — I thought I had, and disappoint- 
ments a-plenty. It is like I said.” And now he 
spoke with that power and force new in him. 
“Everything is shut to me ! I must fight my way to 
everything! And I am willing to do that — I have 
done it ! Two years of school I’ve had, and earned 
every dollar, besides helped — I’ve kept myself clean 
and decent while I did it. But I had to have money, 
didn’t I ? Didn’t I have to have money ?” 

It was half a minute before I realized that he was 
waiting for an answer. I had been listening to him 
as one in an audience listens to a speaker, and is 
carried away by him, their senses delighted or ap- 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


191 


palled at his will. If he asks a question he expects 
no answer from his audience; his answer is on 
his own lips. But Red expected response from me. 
I gathered my soaring faculties and framed one. 

''It takes money to get an education where one 
has to leave home for schooling/^ I said, conscious 
that my voice sounded tame and weak with his elo- 
quence throbbing on the still air. "Of course you 
had to have money, Red.’’ 

"I had to have money !” He fairly snatched the 
words from me. "And I had to earn it, didn’t I? 
Nobody was around sayin’, 'Here is the money for 
your expenses at school,’ no rich uncle, or fairy god- 
fathah was sayin’ that to me. And yu cayn’t earn 
money without work, can yu? — work of some kind? 
And yu cayn’t work at something yu don’t know a 
thing about. I couldn’t go down to Waco, or to Red 
Rock and do bookkeepin’ or telegraphin’ when I 
don’t know a thing about such work, could I ? Such 
work is clean and gentlemanly — clerkin’, teachin’, 
preachin’ and sellin’ goods — all of them are gentle- 
manly employments. But how could I do them when 
I didn’t know decimals from a yeller steer, or gram- 
mar from a dun-roan cow ? — tell me that ! Plowin’ 
a field is low, they say, and punchin’ cows is plumb 
degradin’ — neither of them is a gentleman’s work.” 
He had come down by easy stages from his fierce 
eloquence, and his tone once more was soft and 
drawling. "No gentleman will punch cows,” he con- 
tinued. "If one does, the gentleman part of him 
dies and falls off, and the critters he is mindin’ 
trample on it and grind it into the dung. He be- 
comes a beast — a mauverick, for his own sistah 
won’t own him as a brothah, and no decent white 
woman won’t marry him.” 


192 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘‘Has ” I burst out, but stopped the question 

there. 

He regarded me with grave eyes. “Ya-ah,’’ he 
said, and the word was sadder than tears, for there 
was no bitterness in it, no resentment, no bid for 
sympathy. “Ya-ah, she couldn’t make distinctions, 
Miss Birch couldn’t. She could see that I needed 
education — she knew that I could nevah stand up 
and ask God and man to let me take her as a wife, 
and she to be ashamed of me and my language be- 
foah the congratulations was ovah — she knew that ! 
But she thought I should work my way through 
school — earn my board and books by odd jobs 
around some fine house, or carryin’ messages for the 
big bloods. Maybe, if I had been brought up in 
Missouri, I could have done that. But bein’ brought 
up in Texas, seh — well, when I get where gentlemen 
are, I like to be as good as they are. If I cayn’t be, 
then I go where I can be as good as the best. And 
then, there was ouah home — Miss Birch knowed — 
knew that I had to have money to start out as we’d 
like, and she knew my fathah’s condition — I told her 
more, maybe, than I should. But I wanted her to 
understand — I wanted so much foah her to see — but 
she couldn’t. No, seh, she couldn’t. And I ain’t 
blamin’ her — I am tryin’ not to. I cayn’t see things 
sometimes, that afterwards are as plain as day. But 
I don’t reckon she’ll see evah. I have given her lots 
of chance. I talked to her, seh.” Here he lifted his 
eyes to mine, and I could not endure the anguish that 
shone out from the depth of his soul. “I talked to 
her,” he continued, “as long as she would let me 
talk. All that she could see was that I ought to do 
a gentleman’s work — I should earn money like a 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


193 


gentleman. I should begin right off, and work my 
way up in something respectable. I told her that I 
couldn’t wait — that it would take too long. Fd be 
an old man befoah I’d have enough ahead to come 
and claim her. But she said she’d go somewhere to 
study, and would wait, knowin’ that I was tryin’ to 
be decent for her sake. And she seemed to think 
that a star’d fall, or there’d come a diamond shower 
— I don’t know what. But she was sure enough 
sweet in all her foolishness. I’d have hated it less if 
she had seemed the fool she talked. Pooah little 
girl ! — her folks have gone back North — Pooah little 
Birch! I — we had planned to be togethah a lot — 
we even talked about ouah home, — and how 

He broke off and went to the window, where he 
stood looking out. His hands were clenched as they 
hung at his sides, and for several minutes I could 
hear every breath he drew. Then, after a time, he 
seemed to relax. 

‘‘That’s ovah,” he said, as he faced me. And then, 
after surveying me from head to foot, he said lazily, 
“Yu ain’t ovah weighted right now.” 

I smiled. Flesh did not find affinity with my bones, 
and doctors disagreed as to the cause. So I had 
taken to smiling as they did over it— the profes- 
sional smile being about all I ever got for my 
money. Red and I now walked out, and as we 
went I told him of a wish I had long entertained of 
spending a year on the Texas plains and living 
wholly out-of-doors. And I asked him, “Could I 
punch cows?” 

He took the question as seriously as I meant it, 
and gazed at me, seeming to search for something 
beyond my face, yet within my head. 


194 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


'‘Yu could punch cows,” he said finally, "but yu 
couldn’t command salary.” 

"Not board and lodging?” I asked, dismayed. 

"Ya-ah, yu could get that — ^but who wants — I 
mean, sell, yu’d nevah get much more, seh.” 

I laughed and told him that board and lodging 
would suit me fine, that I had my pile, and I named 
the amount and the bank. He rewarded my con- 
fidence with his. 

"I am gettin’ seventy-five now, and sixty-five of 
that goes into the bank every month — I can keep 
decent on ten. It’s countin’ up some, but not fast 
enough. If I had begun five years ago ” 

I did not press him to finish. We reached the 
corral and went in for our horses. Several cow- 
boys were about, and I saw Hawkins. This re- 
called many things to my mind, and I began asking 
questions: "Is Reynolds the same?” and "Where is 
Ed?” "I would like to see Dock right now! Is he 
prospering?” 

Red answered these questions patiently as we 
saddled up. Reynolds was the same — had had an- 
other fight and got another scar. Ed was married ! 
— Red had passed his house the other morning, but 
everyone seemed right busy and he did not stop. 
And I fell into this trap. "What doing?” I asked. 
"Celebratin’,” he replied, with grave countenance. 
"Then I certainly would have stopped,” I asserted. 
"It was just a fambly celebration,” he said from 
under his horse’s belly. "But there was a right 
smart number of guests. Ed’s mothah, and right 
on to all of his wife’s folks was there. I allowed it 
would take a right big birthday cake to go around.” 
I said, "Oh, then it was a birthday celebration — 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


195 


Ed’s?'’ ''No,” and there was a gleam of laughter 

in the eye that appeared above the saddle. "It was 
the baby’s — first.” 

I struck at him, but he dodged away, laughing. 
"I have been in the city too long, — I have grown 
dense,” I said. 

"Yu sure enough have,” he replied. And I was 
glad to hear his laugh again, and glad to hear the 
music of his voice. 

Then he told me about Dock. "He brought a 
woman — an octoroon — up from Mobile, and two 
girls — quite young women, and almost white. They 
are livin’ at his ranch— have fixed things up a lot 
and put flowers out. His cattle are doin’ well, but 
there is talk, and Dock don’t go about as much as 
formerly. He was at Hawkins’ place at meal time 
oncet, and they did not ask him to eat. Ain’t it 
strange how a man ” 

But here I interrupted with a question that leaped 
from my brain to my lips. "Logan? Has he ever 
been heard of?” 

Red did not answer. He mounted his horse and 
I got on mine. We started out on the Upper Trail. 
After we had ridden far enough to be clear of any 
possible overhearing, I repeated my question. 

"Have you heard anything of Logan ?” 

"Zant Logan,” said Red, without taking his eyes 
from the trail, "Zant Logan is dead.” 

"Oh,” I exclaimed in surprise. And then, be- 
cause of some inflection or expression of his, I 
asked, "Is he dead, truly?” 

He made no answer to this, and we rode a mile 
or better in silence, our horses at.a gallop. Then, at 
a swale, he slowed his horse. 


196 THE UPPER TRAIL 

funny how things do/’ he said idly, pointing 
his whip. “Look at that weed now — that tumble 
weed. It’s a-growin’ there, and we say it is alive. 
After a bit, fall will come. It will unjoint then, 
down close to the ground — we will see it lodged 
against a bank somewhere, and will say it is dead. 
Next year, if we ride along here, we will see a 
tumble weed growin’ right in this same place. Is it 
the same weed?” 

“I should say it was,” I said disinterestedly, “the 
same weed with a new top — a new tumble.” 

“That’s a right clevah notion,” said Red. 

“Not at all,” I hastened to assure him. “The root 
lives, therefore it is the same weed, just as a tree is 
the same tree, year after year, for all it annually 
sheds its leaves — only in the case of the weed, the 
visible part disappears wholly. We are much the 
same — the visible part of us dies, and goes, like the 
weed, to enrich the soil which has sustained it — the 
invisible spark of life lives on endlessly. But where 
does it live ? — that is the question that puzzles every 
thinking man. The weed lives there in the ground ; 
the tree lives, brown and bare, in the sight of all, 
until it blossoms forth in the newness of life. But 
think of all the people that have lived — countless 
thousands.” 

“Millions,” said Red, “and all recorded by name 
in the Lamb’s Book of Life ! — what a thunderin’ 
big book it is ! And there must be some erasures.” 

“Erasures,” I repeated, puzzled. “Why? — oh, 
girls that marry? — widows that remarry? — it must 
complicate the bookkeeping some.” 

“Ya-ah, but that could be fixed easy — in the book 
for females there must be extra rulin’s to give more 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


197 


space, since the end is known from the beginnin’ 
that would not be hard to look after. Besides Mary 
would be Mary clean through, and Jane would be 
Jane.’’ 

‘'Why erasures, then?” 

But again he did not reply. I observed that he 
sat like a statue, — a statue representing care, or one 
of responsibility. But I knew that though those 
things had possessed him wholly, it was of others, 
and not of himself, that he was thinking. Was he 
grieving for his folks? What did he mean by 
erasures ? I was sure that he meant something, and 
I was pondering over it when he spoke out abruptly, 
putting all my half-formed theories to flight. He 
said : 

“I wrote yu to come down here, and said I could 
give yu information. I cayn’t. Things have hap- 
pened. As I said in town, it has only been a week 
since I came home, but big things can happen in a 
week. When things begin happenin’ oncet, it seems 
that they cayn’t let up. And so I cayn’t tell yu the 
things I had planned to, and I cayn’t help yu do 
your work like I wanted. But yu — yu can hang 
around the Station or punch cows with me ovah at 
R2, as yu like. The thing is plain to be seen. Only 
nobody has seen it — nobody but me. I cayn’t tell 
yu no more — any more. We will go to my fathah’s 
now. Yu will be right welcome by my folks.” 


CHAPTER XL 


LOVE CHANGES A WOMAN. 

It has happened to you, has it not, at some 
sudden change in surroundings, to feel on awaken- 
ing that you have been aroused out of reality into 
a dream? Thus I came to life the next morning in 
my room at Levering’s. I wish I could make you 
see the quaint, old homestead lit with the glory of 
a bright Spring morning. The sun, far off, lifted 
itself above a horizon of shell-pink and orange, and 
looked into a sky of crystal clearness, while it lit 
the dew-wet earth with myriad diamond lights, 
which were set in every brown bough, on each 
bursting bud, on every blade of grass, on each new- 
opened crocus, and purple iris leaf. And out of 
this came sounds of life and joy! — a chorus of song 
from birds, the busy clamor of fowls, the shrill call 
of a gander, and the answering squawk of a goose ; 
the lowing of a cow for her calf came up from a 
nearby pasture, while over her, disturbed by her 
wondering search, a flock of wild duck floated, 
blacks specks against the pastel sky. And near at 
hand, the song of a negro — one of melody rather 
than words — rose with all the sacred joy of an 
anthem. I looked and listened, and in my breast the 
ice of the North melted away, and its place was filled 
with a warmth and love that passes description. 

My toilet hastily contrived, I moved to the win- 
dow, and saw, scattered about the lawn, those who 


THE UPPER TRAIL 199 

fitted properly into the scene — the Levering family. 
Eunice, fairer than pictures, knelt at a flower bed, 
and, trowel in hand, gazed up at her mother, who, 
with fleecy shawl about her shoulders, and the sun’s 
rays touching with radiance her snowy hair, stood 
beside her daughter directing her work. A little 
apart from these two was Red, and his father. Red 
was dressed as I had never seen him before — in a 
suit of homespun, tailor-made and faultless. I have 
never seen the man who would not have gladly 
equaled him in appearance. The words of the two 
men were low, and their expression was that of 
deep concern ; but to it all, with countenance of 
keen interest, the watchdog listened absorbedly. I 
changed my position in the hope of seeing Joseph, 
and was rewarded. She stood quite under my win- 
dow, all in black, with her gaze on the distant 
heavens and a psalm book in her hand. 

Miss Levering had no part in the brightness of 
the new-born day. She was ofif on the cold peak of 
piety, giving thanks to the maker of ice and snow; 
for the maker of warmth and flowers she had no 
thanks. In her plain, black garb, she was rebuke 
to the busy, budding life about her ; she was a re- 
buke to my foolishly happy mood. But the rebuke 
did not abide with me. And, though I regret to say 
it, I found more to the glory of God in the song of 
the negro than I did in the pious demeanor of the 
daughter of the house. 

Later in the day. Red and I went hunting. The 
duck season, as I have intimated, was on in Texas, 
though it was still Winter in our world, February, 
to be exact. But luck was with the duck — at least 
it was not with us, and noon found our game-bags 


200 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


empty. Finally, we came upon a flock of teal. They 
were just beyond us in a bend of the river, fifty or 
more of them, and as busy as ants. I crept forward 
cautiously, intending to take a pot shot and fill my 
bag. Red followed stealthily — in fact, we made a 
great part of the distance like worms, on our 
stomachs. But as we paused behind the last cover, 
he touched my arm. I looked into his eyes and saw 
that all the enthusiasm of the hunter had gone om 
of them. 

‘Tf I could rise up now and shoot them ducks 
a-settin’ like they are,” he said, ‘T could turn round 
and give yu that information I promised in *my 
lettah. I reckon I cayn’t do either.” And he let 
down the hammer of his gun. 

‘T did not know — I mean I would have shot and 
never thought of their side of the case,” I said, try- 
ing to jutsify myself in his eyes. 

We were completely hidden and the duck had no 
wind of us. I heard their quacking and then a shrill, 
sharp note — the mating call. I had never heard it 
before, but I knew it. Red spoke again : 

“Yes, yu could have done that a- way, but me — 
things a-matin’ in the Spring — ducks, I mean, and 
antelope; cows gettin' calves, men in love with 
women, and women in love with men, and all cre- 
ation buildin^ happy homes, just for two — maybe 
yu don't feel like I do about them things.” 

“I don't know — I guess I never thought much 
about it,” I confessed. 

He stretched out on the green grass, and looking 
up at the sky began making excuses for me. “Yu 
have lived always among boards, hard walks and 
stone walls — spring don't affect such things like it 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


201 


does trees and grass and animals, like I have had 
around me. Maybe men and women that live your 
kind of a life nevah feel like we do who live among 
all this.’’ 

''Likely not.” And now I seated myself beside 
him and spoke of that world, telling him of its 
crime, its vanity, its goodness, and its grief, — things 
which he had not seen, but of which, invariably, he 
had read. His interest was intense. But he said 
finally, "I wouldn’t like it — only for a time, to make 
money.” 

I agreed with him. I was enraptured with the 
beauty and warmth of Texas. From where we lay, 
a little vista opened, of green, rounded slopes in 
front of low, branching trees, and just a glimpse of 
water. 

"This is fine,” I said, expanding my lungs and 
filling them to the utmost with exhilarating air. 
"Fine ! Now if I could have a little home right out 
there ” 

He laughed. "Yu’re gettin’ it,” he said, and turned 
over on his stomach. "Come and punch cows on 
old R2 for a year and yu won’t be a brass kettle no 
more.” 

"Am I a brass kettle now ?” I asked, amused. 

"^ell, yu got a right smart of polish, yu are 
right resistin’, yu are cold-hearted and unfeelin’, 
and yu are the same yesterday, to-day and to-morro’ 
— yes, yu resemble a brass kettle right smart.” 

We laughed over this. I think I had never en- 
joyed a day so much — I mean the day ! — ^the air, the 
sunshine, the earth — all that made up the day. I lay 
stretched out like Red, on the grass, with the hot 
sun burning along my spine, until nature’s own 


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pulse was throbbing in my veins, and I was filled 
with the newness of life. I told Red that I was 
ready to go with him and punch cows. He promised 
me a job under him at R2 — that ranch where the 
proprietor thoughtfully paid his men in advance 
lest they be killed before the month’s end. 

‘‘It is not so bad now,” said Red, when I men- 
tioned this fact to him. '‘There ain’t been any 
trouble at 'R2 for most three months.” 

I expressed a wish that peace might continue. 
And then lay in the sun and dreamed of a day when 
I should gallop over the prairie as strong as a 
savage. From this dream Red recalled me with an 
abrupt question: 

"Do yu think my fathah has aged?” 

I answered evasively. Col. Levering had changed 
much. So had Joseph, and I spoke of this. 

"Love,” he said, "changes a woman.” 

I sat up. The earth under me seemed suddenly 
to have become cold and hard. I arose to my feet, 
and brushed my clothes with much needless care. 
As we neared home, we saw a man on horseback 
leaving the place. 

"It’s Morton,” said Red, in response to my curi- 
osity about this. 

"Has he — do you suppose he was there to din- 
ner?” I asked, and then followed my question with 
a recital of what Morton had told me about their 
having Sunday dinners every day at his home. 

"He gets a meal off of my folks every quartah,” 
said Red, "and it does him for three months. Miss 
Birch told me oncet that Mortons did not have food 
— they ate provendah.” He smiled over this jest of 
the lady who had jilted him, then added sorrow- 


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203 


fully: ^‘Fathah has had to renew the mortgage to- 
day — Morton says it's the last renewal he'll make on 
ouah home." 

That evening I had a long talk with Joseph — it 
was one of the few I had had with her. She was 
very gracious, and I found myself doing my best 
to please her, with what regard you may judge by 
this : 

After I had discoursed at some length about my- 
self and my hopes — with all the best to the fore, you 
may be sure — she suddenly clasped her hands and 
exhibited the first emotion I had seen in her. Joy 
shone in face and eyes, and even radiated from her 
hands, as she said softly: 

‘'God has been very good to me — He has given 
me opportunity to save a soul — the soul of a cow- 
boy!" 

I looked the question, “Not Red's?" 

“No," she replied with a cold flash. “No, I have 
given him up. We all have. When the love of a 
puah, sweet girl like Birch Halloway cannot save 
a man, he is indeed lost," she said in a hard voice. 
Then added softly, “All men are not so wilful and 
perverse as my brothah." 

And these words, with the look that had come to 
her when she was moved by feeling, and the smooth 
ivory of her brow, the slim beauty of her hands, 
and the essential purity of her, I took to my bed. 
With them I struggled for half the night, and in the 
morning was sure of two things: one of them — If 
the man Joseph had set herself to save was as sure 
of heaven already as was her brother, her reward 
would not be what she was expecting. But alas I 
could she have saved the soul upon which she had 


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fastened her hope, her reward would have been 
great — greater even than was her golden dream ! 

Next day, when I, with Red, departed for R2 
rancho, Joseph gave to my hand a letter daintily 
wrapped. 

‘‘Yu will find him where yu are going,’’ she said, 
as I bowed low over her extended hand. 

I did. And to this day I marvel at the strange 
pranks fate plays with womankind! 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE LLANO ESTACADO. 

That section called the Llano Estacado comprises 
the western half of Texas. It is a plain, but not a 
rolling plain like the Black Prairie, where all de- 
scents are gradual slopes, and the hills lie like in- 
verted soup plates on a table. The Llano Esta- 
cado is perfectly flat where it is flat, and abruptly 
broken where it is not flat. Descents are down 
steps, where the earth seems to have cracked, and 
one edge settled a foot or more. Such a step may 
run a great distance, and its front is of bare yellow 
clay. After another flat surface, there will occur 
another step, and then another at regular intervals, 
until, between two such brakes in the prairie, will 
be found a stream, lying like a yellow ribbon, with- 
out a ripple or murmur, its water lingering on its 
clay bottom as if uncertain which way to flow. And 
so its course continues for miles in Spring and 
Winter — in Summer it is not, neither is there any 
indication that it ever was or will be. In other 


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205 


localities there are steep bluffs. The prairie runs 
fiat and unbroken, to the very edge of these, and 
there breaks off, like the sudden end of the earth. 
These bluffs are quite extensive, and are full of 
menace to stampeded cattle. Below the break the 
prairie begins again, fiat and untimbered, though 
near the bluff there may be a single hackberry, or 
a clump of cottonwood. The chief vegetation of 
the plain is giant cacti, standing like posts several 
feet high, which grow in patches, and about them 
grows low grass and a sage-like weed, much liked 
by cattle. Between the patches there is often the 
naked earth. 

Red and I, riding up from the Red River country, 
crossed the divide, between the Red and the Brazos, 
about noon. The long ride was made in silence for 
the most part. Once, when perhaps ten miles on 
our way, I observed that Red was not beside me. 
Looking back I saw him, with hat off and a hand 
shading his eyes, sitting motionless and gazing back 
into the low country. I imitated him, but could 
see nothing except acres and miles of prairie 
stretching away, ever falling as it receded. But 
when I took up my glass I detected at the very 
edge of the horizon, a white speck. And I under- 
stood. It was the schoolhouse, far below on the 
Belknap. Here, no doubt, in former days, the lover 
had been wont to pause and take a last, lingering 
look at the place of his beloved. But it was not 
from habit that he paused to-day. His eyes, when 
he finally rode up to me, were full of the love that 
was still burning in his heart. 

‘T cayn’t realize yet that it is all ovah,” he said 

slowly. ‘‘When I do He broke off and shook 

his head. 


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‘'When you do you will go on just as you always 
have/’ I said, to show my faith. 

“I reckon so,” he said, but shook his head again. 

Then I suffered a little pang of remorse. I should 
have gone to see Birch Halloway before leaving the 
Red River, and I said : 

‘T should have called upon Miss Birch. Is she at 
Morton’s ?” 

“Ya-ah, at Morton’s. And she cayn’t go home 
now for Sunday.” 

That the Halloway s should have sold their Texas 
property and returned to Missouri leaving their 
daughter, was something of a puzzle to me. But 
for Miss Birch’s loneliness and hardship I felt scant 
sympathy. 

“Birch knew what she would have to put up with 
when she took the school,” I said, ungraciously. 

“A part, she knew.” 

I smiled and ventured a little raillery. “I will bet 
that you would be taking her a chicken every week 
this Winter, if the distance was not so great.” 

“I would, seh.” 

“I suppose I have never loved,” I continued 
brutally, “for when a girl turns me down I always 
get mad about it.” 

“Mad ?” Red looked at me, and for once I wished 
that he would not. Our horses jogged on, but still 
his hungry eyes held to mine. “Mad?” he repeated. 
“I reckon I’d be better if I could get mad. They say 
a bone is stronger foah bein’ broke. But me — there 
ain’t no fight left in me. If it wasn’t foah that 
mortgage on ouah home ” 

What would he do? I dared not even conjecture. 
His was the nature to do the unusual, and I under- 


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207 


stood something of how deep his hurt was. But the 
mortgage was there, and I was glad it was — a more 
omnipotent taskmaster than a mortgage I never 
knew. Red had his work left and there was hope 
for him. 

We must have gone two miles before he spoke 
again. ‘‘Yu probably don’t admire the way I act 
in this It was a question, but he did not wait for 
an answer. “Birch made me do this thing myself. 
She left it for me to say. She made me knife my 
own heart.” 

“Well, when there was nothing else for it ” 

“There was her way.” 

“But if you couldn’t do her way ” 

“Her way! — I have seen men a-plenty that do 
their wife’s way in everything. They are good men 
— good citizens — good fillers in. I don’t want to be 
that kind of a man. Did I go back on Birch? — She 
says I did.” 

“That is the woman of it. You did not. She 
asked the impossible and you refused. So this is 
the Staked Plain we are coming to?” 

“Ya-ah, them are the first stakes. Did yu notice 
how Joseph treated me? She always does that. She 
poisoned Birch against me. I didn’t think she could 
do it. I thought love was strongah than pride.” 

“It is. If Miss Birch truly loves you, she will 
come around in a short time. Never fear about 
that.” 

I saw him wince, and was sorry for my words. I 
spoke hastily of the plain spread out from horizon 
to horizon, with tall stakes set in patches like the 
ruins of a stockade. And over all the dim blue of 
the sky. I felt myself growing bigger and better. 


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because of the bigness of the universe. Not so Red. 
As the miles lengthened between him and his be- 
loved, his mood grew more and more dejected. 

‘‘Yu say yu nevah loved, and I think from the 
things yu say that’s true of yu.” I knew he meant 
my unfortunate words, and I waited in trepidation, 
but he had no censure for me. ‘‘Birch and me suited 
each othah down to the ground. We liked to talk 
about the same things — and there were times when 
we neither wanted to talk — just wanted to feel the 
othah near. We liked the same things to eat — no 
sugah in ouah tea, and all that. And Birch liked 
foah me to have big thoughts and to hope foah big 
things. Was that because she wants to be a big 
man’s wife — wants to be rich and make a spread 
ovah othah women? And because she thought I 
nevah could put her in that place, does she want to 
get somebody that can? — or put herself there?” 

“It isn’t like her,” I protested. 

“No. But there was something she nevah told 
me. I heard it from Eunice.” 

“That she has a gift? Yes, she has been teaching 
that she might study in New York. So you think 
that was an influence against you?” 

“She nevah mentioned it to me. She kept her 
dearest confidence from me.” 

“Listen,” I said. “Suppose she had told you, and 
had asked you to wait until she finished her course 
and entered upon her career — would you have 
waited ?” 

“No, seh.” 

“Then what did you want?” I asked. “What do 
you want?” 

He did not answer me — ^but I had not answered 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


209 


him. I tried to. "'Haven't you had hopes so dear, 
and yet so far away — seemingly so impossible of 
attainment that you could not have spoken of them 
to any living person? Perhaps it was " 

But he could not see this, and interrupted. "She 
told othahs. It wasn't as if she had told no one. I 
think she figured all along that she would break off 
with me." 

"Red," I said, "you are mixing things — I never 
heard you mix things before. And Birch was not 
making a fool of you." 

He looked at me. "What was she doin', then ?" 

"Possibly she was trying herself — learning which 
was strongest within her, the instincts of the woman, 
or longings of the artist." 

"Yes. Well, love was the weaker feelin' — I lost 
out." 

I still tried it saying, "Yes, you lost out — this 
time. But she may find that she misjudged herself. 
When the long, lonely days come and go, she 
will " 

He stopped me with an imperative motion. "I 
don't want that sort of love in wife of mine. I want 
a love that out-weighs everything else, one that com- 
pels, and drives and breaks down all that comes in 
its way; I don't want no lonesome sort of love. I 
don't give that kind of love — I won't take that kind 
in return. And I won’t be Mrs. Birch Levering's 
husband !" 

He said this positively. I thought I had given him 
the help he needed. But I soon saw my mistake in 
this. His mood was not to be shaken off. Miss 
Birch had given him a choice — be her kind of a man 
or do without her. He had chosen ; and then learned, 


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THE UPPER TRAIL 


or thought he had learned, her true motive. It 
wounded him in a way that could not heal soon. 
‘'She did not love me enough ; I haven't got it in me 
to make her love me enough." And nothing I could 
say in the long miles of our ride could take his 
mind from this. He worked around the circle again 
to self-accusation. “It was me that failed ; I couldn't 
make her love me enough." 

I was feeling too sorry for him now to speak. 
Presently he resumed: 

“A man has no business bein' like I am. He 
ought to be like a hawss, and have no hopes, no 
mind, no memory. Or he ought to be able oncet in 
a while to get what he goes aftah. I fail and fail ! 
And that is not all, though that hurts me awful — 
there is the memory, and the sting, and the fear — 
there has come to be a fear now, that I will fail this 
time because I failed last time. And now I have 
nothin' to try foah — nobody to try foah!" 

He gave a dry sob. It was so unexpected in him 
that before I knew it I had reined my horse up 
beside his and put my arm around his shoulders. I 
had no sooner touched him than he was utterly over- 
come. “She had come to be the sunshine of my 
life," he said. 

I understood how it was. In his lonely life on 
this vast plain his thoughts were his constant com- 
panions ; if they were bright and full of hope then 
his life was bright, even though he was drenched to 
the skin, or lashed and beaten by a hot, raging wind ; 
but if his thoughts were of failure, then his days 
were dark, and the great voiceless plain became the 
valley of desolation. He dreaded going back to his 
work; he dreaded being alone with only cattle; he 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


211 


dreaded even the evening banter of the cowboys at 
the bunk house ; he dreaded all things, now that his 
heart was sore — his love refused. Time would ac- 
custom him to the new condition and fill his mind 
with wholesome, if not so glowing, hopes. But I 
had the sense not to try to make him see this now. 
I kept silent, and presently he shook my hand, not 
looking at me as he did so. Then he made a new 
beginning of talk between us, speaking of the Plain. 
“That south that looks like a cloud is Buzzard Peak, 
and Kiowa Peak is closet to it — we will see them 
good later. We will camp to-night on Squaw Fork, 
and to-morro’ we’ll cross Salt Fork of the Brazos. 
Yu can see Canon Reseata most any day.” 

So we talked of things seen until we reached 
Squaw Fork and made the promised camp. There 
was a high bluff to the north of us, several rods 
from the water, and a huge hackberry spread its 
green limbs in its shelter. “Prairie fires miss ’em 
there,” was Red’s explanation of there being no 
timber elsewhere. He cooked our supper there in 
the open, and later spread our blankets beside the 
ashes. But not without protest from me. I favored 
the protection of the bluff and the shelter of the 
hackberry. 

Red shook his head. “This here will be more 
comfortable when dark comes,” he said. 

We were in our blankets at dusk, and I slept im- 
mediately. A few hours later I found myself bolt 
up in bed. On the air, up from the earth, out of 
the very blankets that covered me, came the hideous 
howl of wolves, a hundred or more of them, I 
judged, and so I spoke to Red, that he might wake 
and hear the unusual concert. 


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‘'I reckon there's two," he said, ‘'but one of them 
is a mile below here." 

Crestfallen I lay down. A little later, while in a 
dream of the city and its dark dungeons of crime, I 
heard a scream of fright and agony — a woman's 
shriek. I leaped from the covers and snatched my 
gun. I realized, the moment my feet touched the 
grass, that the wild prairie surrounded me, that 
the clear sky was above my head and the young 
moon looking down from between boughs of the 
hackberry. But that woman's scream was not a part 
of any dream ; it was pulsating on the air I breathed, 
the agony, the despair, the heart-appeal of it was 
tugging at every fibre of my being. I saw Red's 
hand move to his gun. 

“Lay down," he said, in a tone of command. 
“She won’t hurt yu if yu keep still." 

“You heard that cry?" I asked. 

“Ya-ah, — she is in the hackberry yondah, I 
reckon. But if she'd have been hankerin' very much 
foah our livers, she wouldn't have waked us up 
yellin'." 

“Our livers? You are not awake, are you?" 

“They always act that-a-way this time of year. 
Yu'd bettah lay down, seh." 

I stood still while into my intelligence sank the 
knowledge that it was the cry of a mountain cat that 
had aroused me. Then I obeyed Red. I crept noise- 
lessly between my blankets, and drew them over my 
ears, seeking security as does a child afraid of the 
dark. My wide-awake eyes, peering from this por- 
tection, stared up at the hackberry, and saw the long, 
lithe body of the animal silhouetted on the sky ; then 
it glided away in the shadows. For an hour I lay 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


213 


bathed in cold sweat, hearing stealthy steps all 
around me ; hearing unmistakable sniffs, and catch- 
ing a strange odor. These things I charged to fancy, 
aided by fear, and finally slept. But in the morning 
I found tracks near our beds that measured quite 
six inches across. I showed these to Red. 

'T reckon she did sniff around some,’’ he admitted 
indifferently. 

‘‘But what was to hinder her springing upon one 
of us ?” I cried, feeling the muscles of my scalp con- 
tract at the thought. 

“Nothin’ — only yu notice that she didn’t.” 

“Maybe the next one will.” 

“Ya-ah. But they have got sense, yu’ll find — 
sense that we ain’t got. That one last night was 
plumb curious about us, that’s all. And the way 
she walked around and around, and looked, and 
sniffed, and wondered, all the while keepin’ time 
with the tip end of her tail, was plumb funny to. 
wasn’t^much sleep around, and yu took what there 
was.” 

I expressed my surprise. And then, rather shame- 
facedly, I told him how I had covered up my head, 
and how I lay and sweat, thinking him asleep. 

Vwatch.” 

‘'Y'ou were watchin’ her, then?” 

“Ya-ah. I’d nothin’ else to do last night. . There 

“There was no occasion for alarm,” he said. “But 
if yu had a-shot at her, likely this here would have 
been a different lookin’ camp this mawnin’. They 
are hard to kill — wounds that would lay any other 
animal out just seem to put life and fight into them. 
When yu get ready to kill one, yu take good daylight 
for it, and be sure of your aim. Any time yu 


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THE UPPER TRAIL 


haven’t them two points of advantage, yu let pussy 
alone.” 

I accepted his advice in silence, and many times 
have I had occasion to use it, which is more than I 
can say of the most of advice I have had. But I 
was glad, when evening came around again, that 
we were nearing R 2 rancho. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

DOES LOVE CHANGE A MAN? 

R 2 Rancho, as far as lines or natural boundary 
was concerned, had no beginning and no end. The 
buildings belonging to it sat like dark warts on the 
level prairie that once was Spain; they had been 
there so long that they had taken on the tone of 
their surroundings, weeds were growing in the soil 
that made their roofs, and trails, deep-worn, led to 
them from every direction, like the spokes of a 
wheel to its hub ; who built them or why they were 
built, would have been wildest conjecture from the 
oldest inhabitant of Texas. But Red explained their 
modern use — the cook shack where they ate, the 
bunk house where they slept in fair weather — in 
bad weather they remained with the cattle on the 
range. And apart from these, he showed to me the 
“guest chambah” — which from its forbidding aspect 
might have been a jail — where the owners of the 
rancho slept when there, and where buyers and like 
guests were made comfortable. 

Several of the ranch hands were already in when 
we dismounted at the corral. They passed a genial 


Cowboys at R2 Ranch.— Page 214. 




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THE UPPER TRAIL 


215 


word to their foreman, and assured him that ‘'things 
had gone on’' during his absence. I recognized 
Sleepy Smith among them, and he passed a quiet 
“howdy” to me. I observed that he watched me as 
I stood looking over my surroundings. 

“Lookin’ for the graveyard?” he asked, as he 
came near and squinted half-closed eyes into my 
face. 

I smiled and nodded. “Yes, where is it?” 

“There ain’t none — and the hull country’s one.” 

“Time has sharpened your wit,” I observed. 

“It has sharpened some of your points.” 

I gave him a smile — the one I bought of the 
doctors. Was I never to get away from my thin- 
ness ? Then I made an inquiry, and presently 
handed the letter, which Joseph had entrusted to my 
care, to a man who looked as little deserving of the 
dainty missive as a pig of fine linen. 

He opened it before us all, and laboriously, with 
moving lips, read it through and grunted. He was 
a tall man, dressed as were the other cowboys, but 
his flannel shirt was unbuttoned over a hairy chest, 
his coarse trowsers sagged dangerously at the waist 
and hung in worn folds about his feet, and over the 
whole man there was a grime — a filth, that was not 
of a day or of a week. He did not look a fit candi- 
date for heaven, I thought, and no church would 
take him, even on probation. Yet a woman would 
try, out of such material, to make a man and save 
his soul ! 

This was Hooven — ^Jim Hooven. When I lifted 
my eyes from my inspection of him, I found Red’s 
gaze fixed on me, sober and calm. He knew that I 
had brought the letter. I felt that he should have 
kicked me. I wanted to kick myself. 


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THE UPPER TRAIL 


Hooven smiled, after his grunt, and looked at me 
inquiringly. 

‘'I came from there,'’ I replied, in answer to his 
look, and purposely left out all names. 

At that Hoover smiled again, and pushed his hat 
back. His hair lay in damp, sorrel strings on a 
forehead that sloped back like a toboggan slide ; the 
same sorrel strings of hair were visible below large, 
red ears. The looks of the man and his acts filled 
me with a sickening sense of disgust. I heard Red 
clear his throat, but no word came from him. Others 
of the ranch outfit rode up and dismounted. I looked 
them over and found them clean under the dust. 
Hearty, frank men, young and middle-aged, to 
whom I would have given a full measure of good 
feeling on the spot. But they greeted me 
restrainedly, while they swore with surprising gusto 
at each other. Hooven seemed to wait for them. 

''Where did you say you just come from?" he 
asked in an auspicious moment. All stopped their 
talk. 

"I? — why, I came up from the Station," I said. 
And added, "It's a long ride." 

Hooven drew his letter out, holding it so all could 
see. "How did you come by this, then ?" he asked, 
and his gaze went past me to Red. 

I was nettled. The man was playing me, the new 
arrival, for some grudge he held against his fore- 
man. The thing was plain. But I answered calmly : 
"It was handed to me. I hope I have not been the 
bearer of bad news." 

He smiled, and now his smile was frankly sinister, 
and it, like his gaze, went past me to Red. In a tone 
of mingled joy and malice he said: 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


217 


‘‘No, no bad news — nothin’ on-welcome. I just 
was wonderin’ how it was that Miss Levering sent 
my letter by a stranger — when there was another 
way.” And he looked around over the listening 
cow-punchers. 

I experienced a sensation of internal boiling. I 
saw his plot — to reveal his association with Red’s 
sister, to brag over his conquest and at the same 
time to use me, her brother’s friend, as an instru- 
ment for his humiliation before his men. And it 
was all cunningly done. The insult was not in the 
words, but in the coarse ugliness of the man. And 
one may not hit a man for being ugly — if one could, 
life would be taken up with the giving and receiving 
of blows. I myself would be a worthy target. So I 
sat and boiled. 

The cow-punchers turned and sauntered off by 
two’s and three’s. To them the show was over; to 
me it had just begun. I looked for Red. He was at 
the corral. Hooven, nearing the cook shack, burst 
lustily into song: 

“On Sunday night I’ll hold her tight. 

And she’ll sit on my knee ; 

On Sunday night I’ll kiss her right. 

And she’ll kiss me — e — e.” 

I walked across to the corral and viciously kicked 
a post — it did not even shiver! I wrenched at it 
with my hands, and kicked it again. Red came back, 
carrying his saddle. He slapped my shoulder and 
said ironically, “We set them solid here.” 

“Posts, — yes!” I snorted. “But for a thing like 
that Hooven to even mention Miss Joseph is an 
insult.” 


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THE UPPER TRAIL 


''She gave him the right/’ 

"I want to kill him.” 

"I’ve had that feelin’ myself,” he admitted. 

"I can’t stay here with him,” I declared. 

"He is leavin’ us soon.” 

"For what? — Not that!” I cried. 

"No, — not yet, I reckon.” 

"What is he going to do?” 

Red was silent for a full minute, but his words 
came with a sharp abruptness, "He ain’t told me.” 

I dug my hands into my pockets. The prairie 
stretched away to a dim, gray horizon, round as a 
hoop ; a few stars twinkled mockingly. I felt little, 
incapable, contemptible, helpless. Red slapped my 
shoulder again. 

"Suppah will be on about now,” he said. 

We went up to the shack. The table was full, but 
they made room for me. The food was clean and 
abundant. I was hungry and enjoyed myself in the 
eating. The cowboys still made a stranger of me, 
but they did not allow my presence to make them 
strange with each other. Jokes rattled around the 
table like billiard balls, and now and then one was 
followed by a substantial hot biscuit. I was the 
audience to all their fun. They did not know yet 
whether I was there as a guest of the foreman, a 
buyer, or a job-hunter. They found out later, and 
thereafter I got my share of everything. With the 
dawn I was assigned my duties. They were done 
under the eye of Hooven. He corrected my blunders 
without telling me why they were blunders, and 
maintained toward me an air of direct insult, such 
as he had shown on the evening of my arrival. I 
complained of this to Red. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


219 


‘'Yu are to fill his place/’ he said. 

I thought him unjust in his devotion to duty. 
That he had a purpose — shall I say hope ? — in 
thrusting the society of Hooven on me, I failed 
to divine. 

Then one day Red joined us, coming unexpectedly 
from a ravine. There had been a storm the night 
before, and the beef stuff, separated from the cow- 
herd during the calving season, had been widely 
scattered. Hooven and I scoured our end of the 
range pretty thoroughly and rounded up quite a 
number of steers. We had just returned from 
driving these back to their rightful range when Red 
came. 

He gave some directions about cows with new- 
born calves. “A cow will drop her calf where she 
can protect it from coyotes — every time she will do 
that a-way,” he said. “She’ll kind of have the thing 
planned out beforehand in a way that we can’t see, 
and she’ll take care of it. But if a some fool man 
goes and moves that critter to some other place — one 
that looks good to him — nine times out of ten that 
cow will lose her head if attacked and her calf will 
be ett up. I say, let them stay where yu find them, 
or corral them.” 

“Rot,” said Hooven. “The worst rot I ever heard. 
Why, I have seen cows ” 

But just then a nearby critter bawled with its 
mouth full of grass, grazed a moment and bawled 
again, head up and uneasy. I noticed this — it caused 
me to miss whatever it was that Hooven had seen 
cows do. But I thought nothing of the incident 
until he rode out into the herd and inspected that 
critter closely. 


220 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


'This here is a steer/’ he announced in an im- 
portant voice, "and there is no brand on him/’ 

"Maybe there are more steers here, then,” said 
Red, and for a time we rode in and out among the 
grazing cattle. We found none and so came back to 
the steer. 

"It’s no stray, I told you,” said Hooven in re- 
sponse to some word of Red’s. "That there is a 
mauverick.” 

Red gazed back over the herd. "Well,” he said, 
"if there are more steers here, yu all will drop onto 
them during the day. Cut that fello’ out, Hooven, 
and chase him up the ravine.” 

"How do you know he belongs up?” said Hooven, 
making no move to obey. "Maybe he belongs down.” 

Red gave him a sharp glance. "The steer herd is 
up,” he said in a voice too slow to be natural. "Be- 
cause this here one missed gettin’ his brand on him, 
he ain’t at liberty to run with the cows.” 

"Maybe R 2 ain’t the ones as missed puttin’ a 
brand on him,” said Hooven. 

"Maybe we all didn’t.” 

"Maybe he don’t belong to none of the Llano 
ranches.” 

"Might be that a-way.” 

"Maybe now he is one of Morton’s — he don’t 
brand.” 

"Makes it mighty handy for them as want to 
claim what don’t belong to them.” And this time 
Red’s words came with a sting like the tip end of a 
whip lash. 

Hooven did not respond immediately, and Red 
rode around the steer and began working him 
toward the edge of the herd. Hooven followed. His 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


221 


face was dark, and deep lines of hate furrowed it 
across. 

‘'A mauverick belong to the man that finds him,’’ 
he said doggedly. 

Red gave him another glance — a long one. But 
he answered nothing, and I asked : 

''What is a mauverick?” 

Red explained this to me, more in detail than was 
necessary I thought. Therefore, at the first oppor- 
tunity, I sought to end it by saying : 

"I see — a mauverick is any homeless, nameless 
critter. When he gets a brand he gets a name, — 
he is R2, D4, or IXL. When he is sold he gets a 
new master and a new name — the old one hairs 
over and is forgotten.” 

Red observed me narrowly. "I oncet knowed a 
man like that,” he said. 

The words had no effect on me. But on Hooven 
they had, and that effect was instantaneous. He 
jerked his horse to a stop directly in Red’s path. 

"Yes !” And the word fell with a hiss. "Well, 
what have you got to say about him ?” 

Red guided his horse around Hooven. "The way 
we all handle mauvericks is about the only practical 
way,” he said, ignoring Hooven by giving his whole 
attention to me. "At the round-up last Fall there 
were four mauvericks — one apiece for the pool. Fall 
before last there wasn’t but one unbranded critter, 
and the big guns drew lots for it.” 

"Maybe there won’t be none this Fall,” said 
Hooven in a voice that was far from steady. 

Again Red made no reply. He gave his attention 
to the steer. He had the critter near the edge of 
the herd now, and so quietly had he manoeuvered 


222 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


that not one of the cows had been disturbed, and 
even the steer did not suspect that anything was up. 
Hooven, however, was disturbed and suspicious. 

"‘This mauverick as well stay on here,’’ he said in 
a tone of threat. “He won’t hurt the cows none.” 

Red stopped his horse. His expression told that 
he had done with ignoring and evading. 

“My awders to yu was to chase this steer up the 
ravine, seh. Yu did not obey. I shall do the work 
myself.” 

Hooven forced an insulting smile. “Suppose I 
rope him now,” he said with slow insolence. “He is 
mine, then, and I can do as I please with him.” 

Red fixed him with a glance that was sterner than 
any word. Hooven’s eyes met his steadily. I could 
hear both men breathe. 

Then Hooven’s glance wavered. His hand went 
to his rope. “I could rope him easy,” he said to 
me. “But I say, what is the use of frightening the 
critter? I found him. I am near enough to rope 
him. I have you for a witness — both of you for 
witnesses. The steer is mine !” 

“He cayn’t run in this herd,” said Red, in 
ominously even tones. 

Hooven raised himself in his saddle like a mad 
tarantula. “You said it was a good law! Why, in 
hell ” 

“Have yu got a herd, Hooven ?” 

“Of course not! If I had, by — but I found this 
critter, and ” 

“If yu ain’t got no herd, Hooven, how could yu 
have missed the brandin’ of this steer?” 

“That ain’t a thing to do with it,” Hooven 
snorted. “I know a man that built up a herd out of 
just mauvericks.” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


223 


reckon I know the same man/’ 

''He is rich now ” 

"Rich and respected.” 

"He staid by his friends, too.” 

"Staid right by the gang to the last fight.” 

"One was killed in that fight,” said Hooven 
tensely. 

'‘One is dead, seh.” 

What lay beneath all of this? It was acting — 
both men were acting and I was the audience — a 
very attentive, not to say alarmed, audience. But 
they were not playing for the audience — they were 
playing for each other. They were doing it per- 
fectly. I had seen actors — the best that played on 
any stage. But this ! It would not be acting soon. 
They paused in their useless talk, and in the interval 
of silence each fixed himself to meet the end. But it 
was an internal fixing, nothing of it was shown on 
the surface. Red sat toying with the reins. Both 
were breathing short. 

"If you were not her brother I would shoot you 
now,” said Hooven thickly. 

"Don’t let that stop yu,” said Red. 

Hooven lifted his face — it was as gray as ashes 
and entirely wet with sweat. He gave one swift, 
hurried glance around, — it took in the prairie, the 
cattle, the sky and me — ^but I knew, as I watched, 
that he had seen none of these things. It was but 
the staring about of a man in delirium. His hand 
groped unsteadily for his gun. 

"The fello’s on that gang set a lot by their leader,” 
said Red, still toying with the reins. "I reckon he 
was a fascinatin’ sort of a man. And when a fello’ 
got undah his influence, he kind of did as he was 
told without givin’ much thought to ” 


224 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Hooven moved in his saddle. ^‘You can’t talk agin 
Chad to ” He looked at me and wet his lips. 

I understood, and my hand moved to my gun. 
Red saw me and shook his head. I obeyed him 
mechanically. 

‘‘Them fello’s all, was like soldiers undah the com- 
mand of Chad,” he said, “and they did as Chad said 
for them to do without oncet consultin’ their own 
ideas. If Chad said for one to go do a thing, he 
went; if Chad ” 

“Is it — is it any of your damned business if he 
did ?” Hooven asked, while his chest heaved and his 
whole form shook. 

“One night,” Red continued, “one night a man of 
that gang shot my hawss, in the rivah close to Her- 
rington. But that fello’ didn’t do it because he had 
anything against me, or against my hawss — ^he 
hadn’t a thing. Left all to hisself he wouldn’t have 
thought of killin’ me, even if he had of known that 
the sheriff was cornin’. He’d have thought of savin’ 
hisself and his pals, of course. But killin’ wouldn’t 
have occurred to him, except in self-defense.” 

Hooven’s head sank upon his chest. Tears fell on 
his hands and splashed on his revolver; his whole 
form shook and trembled. I had seen such a sight 
once — a man given up to grief at the bedside of his 
dying wife — ^but only that once before. He tried to 
control himself and finally blurted out what sounded 
like an appeal : 

“He wa’n’t no coward !” 

“No,” said Red. “No ! Chad never’d a-had him 
on the gang if he had been. Neither would that 
man have shot at a defenseless man in the watah, 
except as I said, he was a soldier undah command of 
a higher officer,” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


225 


''You had a chance to kill him/’ said Hooven, 
raising his red eyes to Red. 

"IVe had several.’' 

"Why don’t you do it, then?” 

"Why?” Red’s form relaxed. He put up a hand 
and pushed his hat back with a slow motion. "Well, 

I’ll tell yu, Hooven. I’ve figured it all along like this 
I’ve been tellin’ yu. I figured that yu — that he was 
an enlisted thief — now wait ” As Hooven stiff- 

ened — "Wait, and I’ll change that. I’ll say he was 
an enlisted man, and his commander awdered him 
wrong — awdered him wrong, yu see, and he had to 
obey awders — he thought he did. We all punished 
his commander. I reckon that settled it.” 

A sob broke from Hooven. "Chad is dead ! — my 
God, he is dead ! I can’t find him ! I won’t ever see 
him again !” He flung out a clenched fist toward 
heaven, and then gave up and bawled. 

I glanced from him to Red, and back again to the 
grief-stricken man. I understood it all. This was 
Logan! And Red could know him in his disguise, 
and give him a job; he could take all his insults, 
endure all his affronts, and lay his very crimes on 
his commander. He could let him live on in security 
to court and marry Joseph — all because he had been ( 
ordered wrong. 

I regarded Red with a kind of awe for the mo- 
ment. I think I had not been surprised to see a halo 
around his head. And I thought : If he can endure 
and condone all this, shall I interfere? If Hooven is 
penitent — if this tumble weed that has come again 
after a Winter’s absence, this mauverick that has 
found a new name, is penitent, and anxious to re- 
form — if he is willing to be a man now, and have 


226 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


his soul saved, is it my part to deprive him of his 
chance? But, is he willing? Hooven himself 
answered my thougth. He lifted his head and spoke 
to Red. 

‘‘I ain’t askin’ for your forgiveness,” he said, after 
a struggle with his voice. ‘‘I don’t need your friend- 
ship.” 

''That’s all right about my friendship,” said Red, 
"and I ain’t tryin’ to thrust it on to yu. But as for 
forgiveness — yu’re not owin’ any to me. Yu wasn’t 
the fello’ that shot at me. Chad Harris was the 
fello’ that did ” 

"But Chad — why, darn it. Red, Chad was at 
home that night !” 

"But — why, cayn’t you see the point?” Red smiled 
indulgently. "His man was out ! — the killin’ was to 
be his’n.” 

Hooven straightened himself. "You have a queer 
way of figurin’ things,” he said, and blew his nose. 
"A mighty queer way.” 

Yes, it was a queer way — queer to we earth-bound 
mortals. 

We started our horses. We cast about for the 
steer, then, looked questioningly at each other. Just 
then we heard a faint, unsteady bawl, and glancing 
up the ravine, saw the steer going at a trot. 

"He’s got scent of kin of his’n,” said Red. 

"Likely,” I replied. 

We separated. Red went to duties elsewhere. 
Hooven, to show that he did not desire my company, 
spurred his horse to a run, and rode to the far side 
of the herd, where I saw him dismount and fling 
himself prone on the earth. I was left to think it 
all over, which was never a good thing with me. At 
the bunk house that evening I sought Red. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


227 


''What do you make out about Logan now were 
my first words upon the subject which now engaged 
my whole attention. 

"Call him Hooven,” said Red, short. 

"Well, Hooven, then. He is not penitent.’’ 

"He is sorry, though.” 

Sorry! I was surprised. Could Red have been 
misled by this man? There had not been exhibited 
one spark of regret for the wrong he had done ! Only 
grief for his dead leader — his outlaw boss. And that 
had not been all grief. Hidden beneath it and 
smouldering under it, was a desire for revenge. Yes, 
for blood. And now I spoke out my mind. 

"You are wrong. Red. I have studied men. This 

Hooven is bad to ” 

"Wait 1” 

Footsteps came near, passed, and the sound died 
away. 

But Red still waited. Our light was a dim lantern. 
I could not see his face distinctly. I took the lantern 
up, shook it, and tried turning the wick up and 
down. It was no use. 

"The globe needs cleanin’,” said Red lazily. 

"Needs it bad.” And then I became sarcastic. 
"Some other things around here need polishing up,” 
I said. 

"Yu mean my intellect? That’s true enough.” 

He spoke sharply. I had thought him indifferent. 
I realized my mistake. In fear that I had angered 
him I strove to make my point clearer. 

"This Hooven is so bad ” I began. But he 

stopped me with a question. 

"Do you believe that babies are born good ? — all of 
them ?” 


228 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


''I do not. Wicked parents beget vicious offspring. 
The sins of the father ’’ 

'T know.’' His tone was still sharp. ‘‘Yu got the 
Bible back of yu, and that is a mighty comfortable 
support, ril allow that yu are right, and we’ll drop 
that point, not knowin’ whether his parents were 
good, bad or indifferent; likely they were indiffer- 
ent — most are. But him — we have seen how a man 
he loved could influence him; could make him lie, 
and steal, and kill ! We have seen how he could love 
a man and be led wrong by him. A man don’t often 
love another man like Hooven loved Chad Harris. 
Yu don’t see it often.” 

I confessed that I had never before seen such an 
exhibition of affection in one man for another, as I 
had that day witnessed in Hooven. 

“Well, then,” said Red, with the inflection of 
finality. 

“Well then what?” I asked. 

“Why, don’t yu see, seh? — if he could love a bad 
man and be influenced to the bad by him, cayn’t he 
love a good woman and be influenced to the good by 
her? I say that the influence will be stronger and 
more enduring by the woman than by the man, seh.” 

I gazed at him agape. Like Hooven, my thought 
was : “You have a damned queer way of reasoning.” 
Then my blood began to boil. 

“You are a fool,” I said, springing up. “Your 
idea is to experiment — with your own sister in the 
balance! It may turn out as you say, and it may 
not. The chances are against it — everything since 
the time of Adam is against it ! I — You know that 
the man is a villain — a villain to the core I” 

I was too angry to talk. I hoped I had angered 


THE UTPEE TRAIL 229 

him also. But I had not. He spoke with his cus- 
tomary calmness. 

‘‘Maybe yu are right, seh. But it pays, don’t it, to 
be a philosopher? I have done a right smart of 
herdin’ of cattle. Some days it rains, and I get wet 
to the hide, — I ain’t nearly so comfortable as I am 
when it is dry and the sun shines. But I think how 
the grass will green up, and how the cattle won’t 
trail so much ; how fine the air will be, and how all 
nature’s goin’ to smile; and how good suppah will 
taste ! It helps a lot while I am ridin’ around in my 
wet clothes with my hawss a-slippin’ and a-slidin’ 
undah me. If I was to get mad, and think all the 
time of my discomforts, it would be a sight harder 
to bear, — seein’ as the rain goes on the same, what- 
ever my mental attitood is.” 

“But you can stop this !” I burst out. 

“Yu would oblige me by givin’ particulars.” 

“You and your folks can ” 

“That ground has been covered right thoroughly.” 

“Well then, him ! — make threats ” 

“I wouldn’t threaten a dog, and not make good.” 

“Enforce the threats, then,” I blazed. 

“That means a killin’. I ain’t his judge.” 

“You are Joseph’s brother,” I blazed again. 

He looked at me dumb. My face grew hot to the 
roots of my hair. I asked his pardon. 

“Oh, shoot your tongue off at me,” he said. “Yu 
won’t do harm then.” 

“Well, then, only this. Red, — I am going to do 
something.” 

“That there is your privilege, seh.” 

“You won’t help me?” 

“I cayn’t go against my own sistah, seh.” 


230 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


''My God, man, I am asking you to do something 
for her/’ 

"As yu see it, yu are.” 

"There is no other way for a sane man to see it,” 
I blazed. "I shall prevent this marriage at the cost 
of a life.” 

"That there is your privilege,” he stated again. 

"Then I’ll exercise it. ril do the thing without 
your help.” 

"Yu will, if yu do it at all, seh.” 

"I shall,” I said. And then after a pause : "And 
I would hate — I would despise to be the brother of 
a girl, and let her marry a villain — a villain, who, by 
all the laws of right and justice, I had a right to 
kill !” 

"It does place a fello’ in a right mean position,” 
he said so sincerely, and so absurdly unruffled, that 
I laughed. 

"Nothing enviable about it, surely,” I said, my 
laughter turning to a sneer. 

He got up then and stood in front of me, the light 
of the lantern fell full on his face. To my surprise 
he was pale ; his face was drawn with suffering. 

"I want to make my sistah happy,” he said simply. 
"I want to do, and to have her do, what will make 
her happy for all her life. If for me to kill Hooven 
would do that, I’d shoot him to-night. But a woman 
will love a dead bad man a heap sight longah than 
she will a live bad man. And Joseph is that deep 
constituted that once she loves, she’ll love always. 
She is some like me.” 

I put a hand on his arm. "Red,” I begged, "for- 
give me. I do not see your way — I can’t ! Besides,” 
— and I leaped at this thought — "Joseph does not — 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


231 


she cannot love this Hooven with all the intensity of 
her being/’ 

His face beamed. ^That there is just my hope/’ 
he said. 

‘"Then,” I said joyfully, “we will separate them 
now, and end it.” 

“That there is just what own’t end it,” he said, the 
light dying from his eyes. “He’d be a martyr to my 
temper, or to your law. Joseph loves a martyr. That 
would cinch the thing.” 

He sat down again, and covered his face with his 
hands. In a moment he let them fall limply at his 
sides. 

“Life — what is it without love? — aftah you’ve 
once had it in your heart ? Look at me ! Three weeks 
ago I was happy — all but for this thing we have 
talked about. I wrote to yu — said I’d give yu in- 
formation. I thought I’d let the law take him out 
of my way. I didn’t know then. But when I lost 
her — Miss Birch, I mean — why, then I knew what 
it was that I’d laid out to do to my sistah. Death — 
why, that’s ovah in a minute! Poverty — why, yu 
can work I Disgrace — ^yu can move away. But love 1 
Yu don’t want me to take my sistah’s heart and hack 
it all up with a dull knife, just because mine has 
been torn that a-way? — yu cayn’t ask me to do 
that?” 

I looked at him dumbly. He was right. But so 
absurdly right — right in such an impractical, gospel- 
like way, that I could not agree with him; I could 
not yield to his way. Yet I loved him — loved him 
better than I had ever loved him before. I longed 
to see his way, and to do his way, if only to please 


232 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


him. But I could not. Reason, precedent, law it- 
self, forbade. And I understood now how it had 
been with Birch Halloway. He had been like this 
with her — so calm and determined, so kind and so 
resolute, so right in his own mind and yet so wrong 
to her. 

Poor Red ! I heard him muttering and tossing in 
his bunk all the night through. But he slept. For 
me, and for Hooven (I knew by his restless turning) 
there was no sleep. 

In a few days Hooven left us to go to work “fit 
for a gentleman,’^ he took pains to say. And as he 
rode away, in a great burst of speed and exuberance, 
the wind brought back the words of that song I 
loathed : 

“On Sunday night I'll hold her tight. 

And she'll sit on my knee ; 

On Sunday night I'll kiss her right, 

And she'll kiss me — e — e!" 

With his going the place was no longer poison to 
me. The vast prairie, bathed in warm sunshine, 
caressed by a soft breeze, voiceless and silent like 
brooding dove, now took me as her own. For days 
I lay on her breast, listening to the cows browsing 
near ; for days I watched mated birds build nests ; 
and for days I dreamed, as I had never felt desire 
to dream before. The enchantments of nature 
swept into my being. I loved, and scarce knew who 
or what I loved — a something it was, little more than 
a thought, a little less than a presence — a something 
which my being demanded, found and adored. And 
to this waif of loneliness and nature, I came to talk, 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


233 


as the days went by, aloud, and I named her Joseph, 
as naturally as I named myself by name. And I 
tried to justify myself in this with the thought that 
there were many Josephs in this South land. 

But love again was the serpent in Eden. Plans 
began to formulate, and before I knew it, even be- 
fore I could wish to leave the ranch, all my placid 
calm was gone; the soft breeze no longer soothed 
but irritated; the peaceful prairie became intoler- 
able. My blood cried aloud for action. Red gave me 
my time without question, and I rode east to the 
Upper Trail. 

Thus does Spring perform her mission with a 
man as with a plant — by creating in his mind that 
which is to grow and bear fruit. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A MESSAGE IS WRITTEN. 

Spring did her work, too, in the Red River coun- 
try. The bear-grass stood in clumps of emerald 
green; the mesquite twined and intertwined its 
branches with their hanging of lace-like leaves ; the 
cactus opened its wide, lotus-like blossoms and the 
deep fragrance floated on the still air. Hillside and 
meadow were an uninterrupted field of green spread 
with flowers, and these found their way, by handful 
and hatful, to the desk of the teacher of the Belknap 
school. She treasured them and tried to shut 
her heart to the longing they inspired. But one day, 
when the children brought to her long, bloom-laden 
ipomoea branches, she put them to her face in an 
agony of remembrance. 


234 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘"No,” she murmured, “sweet ipomoeas, no! He 
was wrong — wrong — wrong!” She dropped the 
flowers and wrung her hands. 

But when the children were at their desks and 
the room was silent; when the birds sang outside, 
and a bee droned from a window to her flowers, 
she sighed softly, drew her paper to her and wrote, 
desultory and slow at first, but with quickening 
energy and growing purpose, that left her cheeks 
flushed and her nerves atremble when she finished. 

Coming back to duty with a start, she hurriedly 
called a class. She was flurried over her letter and 
surprised at the time she had consumed in the 
writing of it. The lesson dragged, a heavy weight 
on her tense nerves, until a heavy knock at the outer 
door startled her to calmness. At the step she 
found a cowboy sitting stooped and slovenly on a 
tired horse. His voice and eyes were heavy, like 
his knock. Without preliminary greeting of any 
kind, he asked: 

“Is the Major at home? — Morton?” 

She answered, “He is, I think.” 

“I thought I just ask here, and save myself the 
ride up there if he wasn’t home.” 

“He was there this morning, and I heard 
nothing.” And here Miss Birch ventured addi- 
tional information. “But if you — ^he does not want 
any more men, if you are looking ” 

“No, ma’am, I have my job.” 

Birch’s breath quickened in a little gasp. “Per- 
haps you are from R 2?” she said, and felt 
smothered by the rush of blood to her face. 

“Yes, ma’am, — that is, I ” 

“I wanted to know ” Birch interrupted, all 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


235 


nervous strain again, mean I want to send a 
lettah over. I will get it.’’ 

He started to speak again, but she hurried away 
from him. Her mind held but one thing — the let- 
ter! She had written similar ones before, and 
always destroyed them. But this was providential 
— this cowboy stopping. She would send this letter 
now, at once. She would ! She would I Her steps 
seemed to echo her purpose as she crossed and re- 
crossed the bare floor. 

She reached the step, and handed the letter, 
properly addressed and stamped, to the cow- 
puncher. Once more he started to speak, and once 
more she forestalled him. His voice was like a 
rasp on her sensitive nerves — she could not bear to 
hear him speak. 

‘'If yu can deliver the lettah personally for me,” 
she gave him a rosy smile with the words, “it will be 
a great favor — a very great favor.” 

He looked long and hard at the address, and she 
saw his expression change. She thought that now 
he would try to say something knowing and 
familiar to her. She spoke quickly and with the 
inflection of dismissal. 

“I hope yu find Major Morton at home. Good 
day.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She saw him put the letter in an inside pocket of 
his coat, and with heart almost bursting she turned 
away. It had passed beyond her control now, and 
pride rose up and condemned her. But for the 
childishness of such a thing, she had asked him to 
give the letter back. She let him go, and with spirit 
more perturbed than before went on with her 


236 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


classes. Recess, however, brought temporary calm. 
She sat and mused, her thoughts in the future. The 
vista that lay before her mental eye was full of 
promise; no loneliness was there, no regret, no 
aching heart; for love was there, and an under- 
standing mind, and fellowship and love. 

A song welled up in her throat, — a sweet, old 
Georgia plantation song, which her mother had sung 
over her cradle. Without thinking, she gave it 
voice, and at once was lifted above doubts and fears 
to the realm of hope and love. The children, hear- 
ing at their play, trooped in and gathered around 
her. She sang the song through to the end, and 
then sat still, soothed and comforted. 

‘Tt’s been a long time since you sang any for 
us, teacher,’’ piped little Tommy. 

Birch looked at the child, and into her eyes came 
a soft moisture. She knew now why she had not 
sung — her heart had been too heavy! She gave 
the intrepid Tommy a hug, and then, standing in 
the midst of her pupils, she lifted her head and 
raised her chest; she practiced her scales for the 
first time in months, and her flexible voice bent and 
rose and soared, until sweet music rose to the 
ceiling, ran caressing fingers along the rude rafters, 
and slipped out at last to find mate among the notes 
of birds. 

While she sang, the cow-puncher rode back down 
the trail from Morton’s, and passed out of sight by 
the Station road. Birch did not see him, and for 
her there remained a suffering deeper than any she 
had yet known; for when a woman humbles her 
pride to ask, and love does not respond, then does 
the sword of bitterness pierce her heart and prick 
her gall! 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


237 


But before all this befell, I passed that way (the 
thing wrought by Spring giving promise of much 
fruit) and stopped at the Belknap to pass a word 
with old friends. 

It was Sunday and no school day, so Miss Birch 
was at home and in her room at Morton’s; she 
danced out to meet me with quite her former girlish 
manner. I asked after her health, and that of her 
parents, and how prospered her school. I tried 
hard to be natural and kind with her, but was con- 
scious of something that pricked and irritated. I 
told her I was leaving Texas, and had come to bid 
her goodbye. 

She looked up at me and seemed to wait for 
something more. I had never seen her eyes more 
bright, her cheeks more pink, yet her color was not 
the glow of health, but rather a flush as of wine or 
fever. I was sorry for her, and yet I found myself 
growing severe in word and tone. 

‘T hope you join your parents soon,’^ I said. 

Her eyelids quivered as leaves stirred by a rough 
wind. 

‘‘My school closes in six weeks.” 

And again her gaze rested on my face, glassy 
and persistent. It entered my understanding that 
in some way I was torturing the girl. How, or in 
what way, I could not imagine. Morton stood near 
— his presence was a bar to anything unconven- 
tional from me. But not so the girl. She had 
waited long enough. She stepped forward and laid 
a trembling hand upon my chap. 

“Yu come from R 2, do yu not?” she asked. 

“Yes,” said I, “direct from there.” 

“Then why don’t yu tell me — give me his 


238 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


She paused, her full throat stretched up, her eyes 
burning into mine. ‘‘He is there, isn’t he? — R — Mr. 
Levering is there?” 

“Yes, he is at R 2, and — quite well. He would 
be pleased to know that you asked after his health.” 

I would have forgone this thrust had I have 
known how deeply the girl was suffering. But per- 
haps it was as well that I did not, for the words re- 
called her to herself. She retreated a step. 

“I am glad to know that he is well. His family 
are anxious. They have not seen him, or even 
heard from him, for a long time.” 

She spoke these words calmly, and with the 
measured accent of a machine. But the color died 
out of her face, and she looked weary and worn. 
Her gaze did not again meet mine, and I was com- 
pelled shortly, by her chilly demeanor, to take my 
leave. 

So the star of Birch’s hope, which had been long 
near the horizon, set that day. The cyst of her gall 
was pricked, and all things in earth and sky were 
tinged with bitterness. The remaining weeks of 
her school were long ones of grim endurance. She 
did not hear of Red again, and she would not per- 
mit herself to visit at his home for fear of meeting 
him. She waited in a despair that was almost a 
stupor, for the day when she could go back to the 
old home in Missouri, to whose highly civilized pre- 
cincts she supposed I had preceded her. 

My plans were otherwise : Across the Red River 
and into the Arkansas wilderness I traced my man. 
Following the trails of beasts, which led inland 
from the water always, and leading my horse, I 
passed through what appeared to be impregnable 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


239 


walls of gum and hickory trees, hung with stout 
vines of grape, and crowded for standing room by 
thickets of barbed wild plum, and found my way 
up the slope of the Black Hills, rendered burr-like 
with a living and dead growth of scrub hickory and 
jack oak. There, where tiny rivulets united in 
valleys of luscious grasses, were formed the head 
waters of the Saline, the Ouachita, Little River, 
Fouch la Fave Creek, and like highways of com- 
merce for the first wilderness producer. 

In this wilderness, and at one with the animals 
that made the winding paths through the forests 
and over the hills, I made my home, until I knew 
my way about as well as they — until the intricate 
wilderness, intersected by myriad winding paths 
that begun in one another and likewise ended, be- 
came as familiar to me as a web to the maker- 
spider. 

When this was accomplished, I left the primeval 
forest and traveled to Herrington, where, by reason 
of my asking, two Department men were to join 
and assist me in the capture of a band of mpon- 
shiners who were flooding the country with ‘Taw’' 
whiskey, and doing it in violation of that duty 
which is “for revenue only.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


A man's first duty. 

What about this : 

If I make up a drink that kills a man at once, I 
am a murderer. If I make a drink that so diseases 
a man's mind that he becomes a murderer, I am a 
manufacturer. If I collect money from men who 
are making murderers, I am a Government — or, am 
I an accomplice in crime? 

The above reflections occurred to me as I stood 
on the depot platform at Herrington waiting for 
the train which was to bring in my assistants in the 
capture of a band of outlaws — outlaws, not because 
they were engaged in making a drink that was to 
rob men of their reason, their usefulness, and the 
usefulness of their children after them, and their 
children's children, and so on ad infinitum, but out- 
laws because they were not paying their hush 
money 'Tor revenue only" to the Government. 

My men came. And behind them on the step I 
saw one whom I was yet more glad to see — Red. 
He gave me a quiet nod of recognition, and, when 
he spoke, his tone seemed to indicate that he was 
expecting to see me there — even that he had made 
the trip for the identical purpose of meeting me. 
My own feelings, as I have said, were not so fore- 
laid. I was frankly glad to see him, and told him 
so. Moreover, I was proud of my success as a 
wilderness sleuth, and wanted to tell somebody. 
Here was my chance. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


241 


I dismissed my men to a hotel, and walked across 
the tracks down to the business blocks with Red. 
His first words, when we were entirely alone, told 
why he had expected to find me waiting at the 
depot. He said: 

‘‘Them friends of yourn talk too much.’’ 

I jumped. ‘'Did ?” The whole of what such 

talk might mean shot through me. “My God, did 
anyone ” 

“I didn’t see nobody, — but yu cayn’t tell, seh, on a 
train. I found out all I wanted to know. Yu move 
quick — that’s all.” 

“Quick? — Yes, but look at the distance!” And 
I told him something of what I had done. 

“One hawss can travel as fast as anothah,” he 
remarked dryly. 

I shook my head. My heart was in my boots. 
He began telling me of his trip East. He had been 
to Chicago with a shipment of calves. He struck 
a good market — veal top-notch prices. Now, he 
had to see the “Company” here in town. After that 
he’d have some time. 

I glanced at him and a hope flamed up quick, and 
as suddenly died. 

“I wish you were going with me,” I said dole- 
fully. 

He did not reply to this. We were passing the 
Boar’s Head saloon. He pushed the door open and 
looked in. 

“If any Red River men or cowboys was in town, 
they’d be there,” he said, as we resumed our walk. 
“It’s a great place foah them all to hold out. Have 
yu seen anybody?” 

I told him no. And he said, “I ain’t, either, — not 


242 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


foah a long time. Td ought to go home this trip 
and see my folks.’’ 

''Yes,” I said. "And I guess you don’t write to 
them very often, either.” 

"No, I’m plumb ashamed.” 

We had reached an open square. Herrington 
was trying to make a city of itself, and here was its 
first attempt at a park. I smiled at the slender 
trees, anchored to posts, and the scattered, nomadic 
patches of green grass. At a fountain Red stopped, 
took off his hat and, ignoring the chained cup, 
drank from the flowing stream. Then he began to 
speak in his sweet Southern voice : 

"I have thought a heap about this thing — Is a 
man’s first duty to his country? Patrick Henry 
said so, and maybe Dan’l Webster seconded it all, 
but — has times changed? I mean, nowadays no 
war we could have would be likely to land my folks 
into slavery, even if this nation was to get whipped. 
Ought I, then, to stay at home with my mothah, 
because I knowed she’d cry if I was to go away to 
fight? No nation likely to whip us in this day 
would try to make us forsake our notions of re- 
ilgion and worship idols. Is my duty, then, to God, 
before it is to my country? Ought I sit still in my 
pew and let my country get licked in a war rather 
than to spill the blood of my brothah man ?” 

"Maybe yu have reasoned this thing all out, and 
think that religion or life, or love is first and befoah 
your country. But me — I get in right alongside of 
them New England orators — my country first! 
Then God, then fambly. It’s puttin’ love away 
down the line, that way of reasonin’ is. Some of a 
man’s folks might die while he was away — a 


THE UPTER TRAIL 


243 


mothah or sistah — someone that would not have 
died if he hadn't gone to war — that there is a hard 
knot to reason ovah. Then again, a man might 
lose an arm or a laig, and because of that them de- 
pendent on him have to live in poverty and nevah 
have the education they would have had if he 
hadn't have put his country before them all. It 
don't seem kind of right to forsake them as are near 
and dear to yu to run off fightin' against something 
that maybe never'll happen. But what would a 
man do with his folks if he had no country to keep 
them in ? And what would be your chance of heaven, 
or mine, if we nevar heard it mentioned again to 
the day of ouah death?" 

‘Tt would be a mighty slim chance with the most 
of us, I think." 

'‘And the laws of ouah country — they are ouah 
country!" he interrupted. "Yu figure it that-a- 
way ?" 

"I do," I responded, agreeing with him, but 
seeing no point in all this. 

"Well, then it is my duty to uphold the laws of 
my country — my folks, my friends, my religion, all 
of them comes aftah a while. And when I fight 
for law, I fight to preserve this here nation; when 
I kill in defense of law, I kill in defense of Gov- 
ernment, just as much as if I was fightin' at Bunkah 
Hill. If the law is faulty, that don't excuse me for 
not upholdin' it, — neither does it excuse yu or any 
othah man. Ouah laws are the best the men who 
made them could make — times and circumstances 
bein' what they was. Aftah a while a new gener- 
ation of law-makers will go in and correct the faults 
in ouah laws. But how are we goin' to hope to 


244 


THE tJl»PER TRAIL 


enforce the good law when we get it, if we let the 
poor law go foah nothin’? A law is a law, I say, 
be it good or poor ! — and I’ll fight foah it, and kill 
foah it, if I need to, and I won’t fight or kill any 
othah way — ^unless I’m compelled to do it.” 

I looked at him standing there, so earnest and 
eloquent in what he said, and somehow felt 
chastened. It was as if, amid the noise and con- 
fusion of the incoming train, he had caught my 
plaint, and was answering it. I stated my point 
again : 

‘‘This Government receives thousands annually 
as internal revenue on alcoholic liquors and to- 
bacco, but it is blood money.” 

“It receives thousands from them things, and it 
pays out thousands, because of the crimes com- 
mitted because of them things, and where’s the 
gain ? There ain’t none. I expect a man with time 
at his command could figure the balance the othah 
way. But — Look at that boy there. He has had 
measles likely, and his parents are glad he has had 
it and is done. But is he done? Maybe his lungs 
has a weak spot in them because of his sickness, and 
he will grow up to get consumption and die young. 
Nobody but the doctors will see the connection be- 
tween his early death and that measles he had when 
a kid. And it is so with whiskey. A government 
is needin’ money, and a concern is makin’ whiskey. 
The government sees its chance and levies a tax ; it 
gets its money and is glad, — ^but there is a weak 
spot it don’t see. The liquor goes ovah this land 
and is consumed. One day there is a big robbery 
in a post office, or a town is burned by a lunatic, or 
a big strike costs Uncle Sam a million, and again. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


245 


only them as has thought and studied up these 
things knows that it was all caused by that weak 
spot way back yondah. But when people do get to 
seein’ that point, then well have the law changed/’ 

‘'Why, yes,” I said, “of course.” His oratory 
and the music of his voice was compelling me, as it 
had that day at the Station. I watched him as he 
straightened himself and settled his hat preparatory 
to moving on. As we started he drawled : 

“I have told yu all this, not because I thought 
yu needed to be convinced, but because I wanted to 
see if I believed it when it was said out loud. I do. 
So now if yu need me in this thing, yu 

“Red,” I cried, “will you? — But Logan — Hooven 
is in the gang. He ” 

“We just got done workin’ on his side of the 
case,” he said. Then with a slow smile added : “Yu 
don’t want me to go ovah all that again, do yu ?” 

I stared a moment. Logan? — law? — love? Why, 
of course ! I gripped his arm. 

“I’ll be ready in an houah,” he said briefly, and 
wrung my hand. 

I had not intended leaving town until morning. 
But now, like him, I saw the need of haste, and at 
the stroke of the clock I had my outfit and men 
ready. 


CHAPTER XVL 


moonshiners' gulch. 

When the last landmark, a dead hickory, came in 
sight, the success of the venture seemed assured. 
Save the time spent at Herrington, I had been trail- 
ing my man for nine uninterrupted weeks. The 
gulch where the cabin and still of the moonshiners 
was located was in the Black Hills, itself encom- 
passed by the growth of oak and brush covering 
deep pitfalls. It fronted an open space of consid- 
erable width, thus enabling the outlaws to sight an 
enemy at considerable distance, while they remained 
concealed. Unless approach was made over the 
mountain, which was almost impossible. A few 
rods below the gulch flowed Fouch la Fave Creek, 
a growth of timber concealing its banks. 

A well-chosen position, surely. Yet, after those 
weeks of careful, cautious trailing, their cabin 
seemed absurdly easy of access. Once I made my 
way in sight of the still by swinging squirrel-like 
from tree to tree of the Fouch la Fave, and leaving 
no trail. Often the moonshiners passed so near to 
me, as I lay concealed in the brush, that I could 
hear their words and smell their tobacco. I knew 
every man of them by name, every man of them by 
voice, every man of them almost, like a dog, by 
scent. For in all those days I had no thought but 
to know them in every act and feature; I had no 
desire but to outwit and capture them. Until, as I 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


247 


lay day after day, in some sequestered lair, watch- 
ing and listening, or as I skulked, alert and silent, 
along some narrow pathway, choosing from many 
intersecting lines the ones that led direct to my 
goal, an exultation possessed me that ached in my 
throat and prickled along my spine. I had no wish 
for human companionship; bear, wild boar, little 
scampering rabbits, and skunks, almost without 
number, that sometimes did not scamper away 
quickly enough, — these were sufficient. The world 
was forgotten. And beyond the capture, I had no 
plans. A long rest, perhaps at R 2, or — ^but I had 
no plans. And now my work was completed, 
almost. This was the last day, and already the 
shadows were falling toward the east. To-morrow, 
I pictured myself with my captives trailing our way 
south to Herrington. There would be a short, pre- 
liminary trial, and then I should be free. And 
Joseph — she, too, would be free. But I did not per- 
mit myself to think of that — not yet. 

We were among the edge-trees of a deep primeval 
wood. The paths that brought us to this point had 
been low and narrow, so that each man had walked 
and led his horse, which in every case, excepting 
that of Red, was a mule. But at the dead hickory the 
path became plain and open, and led in a devious, 
but unobstructed route to the gulch. We arrived at 
the tree, considerably torn and altogether weary. 
It had been hard work getting the mules along the 
path, and my men had frequently declared their be- 
lief that we were hopelessly lost; their lusty, but 
highly civilized cursing kept Red and me chuckling 
with laughter. But at the hickory, serious business 
began. 


248 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


It was Hooven we feared. But for him Red 
would have taken charge, and I would have counted 
the thing as done. But Hooven would certainly 
recognize Red under any disguise that we could 
muster. There was danger, also, of his recognizing 
me ; but nature in those nine weeks had done much, 
and I was able to aid and abet nature — the result 
was a complete change of face and figure. When 
I was ready. Red said that he would not know me 
from a '‘crazy Injun,’’ and with that I had to be 
content. My men were of no use in planning the 
attack, utterly helpless in following a trail ten rods ; 
they were alike ignorant of appearing anything but 
what they really were — a couple of bulldogs, trained 
to grapple and control, to fight men armed or un- 
armed, and conquer thrice their strength of un- 
skilled men. A chance was all they needed, and Red 
and I were playing our lives to give them the 
chance. 

As we moved out of the wood, all preparations 
were completed. I was a prospector, poor and 
hollow-eyed, clad scantily in rags and filthy skins. 
I rode the horse, and the mules, laden with packs, 
followed. These packs contained my fighting force, 
armed and ready, — the two Department men balanc- 
ing each other on one mule, and our grub stake and 
a quantity of ore acting as balance for Red on 
another. The sun was directly on the trail as I 
came into it, and I knew that I was seen. My gaze, 
seeking the gulch, still dim blue in the distance, 
plainly detected a thin column of smoke rising 
mushroom-like above it. That marked the end, but 
by my devious way, it was three miles. 

These miles I finished in due time by urging my 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


249 


horse. The gulch, lost to view for an interval, came 
out again, no longer dimly blue, but dark and 
cavernous, with horses moving around dark hum- 
mocks. And then, of a sudden, my horse neighed. 
I felt his muscles move under me, and was aware, 
as the sound died away on the air, that a cold chill 
had passed over me. The way was broad here, 
cleared for the moving of wares, but there was not 
yet any tell-tale tracks, for the trail was strewn 
with vines and sticks. My horse quickened his 
pace, for he scented his kind, perhaps, for aught I 
knew, an old friend. But precisely as he became 
anxious, a curious shrinking of the flesh came over 
me. The black hummocks all too quickly resolved 
themselves into cabins. The horses gathered to- 
gether and stood watching me as I came down into 
the gulch. I wanted to see no men, but shuddered 
because none were in sight. Had they been warned ? 
Were they lying in wait now, with rifles ready to 
shoot me on sight? 

In the undertaking, which had intoxicated me till 
now, I suddenly beheld a reckless, abhorrent danger 
that chilled and stifled me. I strove to steady my 
trembling nerves. And then the door of the cabin 
opened and men came out and stood among the 
horses, watching me arrive. By the time I reached 
the corral more were there. I began naming them 
off, trying to regain my former confidence, — it was 
suicidal to enter that corral as unnerved as I was. 
I strove to give the men a greeting that should 
sound easy. I told them I saw they had a good 
camp there, and hoped they were taking out pay 
dirt, so had some bacon to barter with a brother 
prospector. Some of them answered this last, but 


250 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


none of them returned my greeting. And, as I 
gazed fearfully into their strangely impenetrable 
faces, I suddenly missed Hooven, and my courage 
rose. 

‘‘Yo-all seem kind o’ leary o’ me,” I drawled. 
‘'Maybe yo air afeared I am lookin’ to porspect on 
your reserves. Ease on that — my lead lays south 
yondah.” And I hooked my thumb in that direc- 
tion. 

They received this in sullen silence. But presently 
one stepped forward and began methodically to in- 
spect me and my outfit. I watched him narrowly, 
and as he approached my pack animals. I drew 
my gun. 

“None o’ that!” I warned. 

“So your rock is in there, old mossback, eh?” he 
snarled. 

Every gun in the gang was leveled on me, but 
every eye behind them held a faint suspicion of a 
smile. 

“By gum, ya-as,” said I, and drawing a twist of 
tobacco from my pocket I took a chew. Then 
added : “It’s got color, too ! — I bet yo’alls can’t show 
better dirt from your leads heaw.” 

“Color?” The inspector, whom I knew by the 
more specific term of Budd, laughed sneeringly. 
“What do you figure you’ll get for your color?” he 
asked. 

“Huh! Take me fer a tarnal fool, eh? If I 
was to tell yo-alls the amount of wealth I’ve got 
in them packs, yo’d end me ! I don’t know nothin’, 
eh?” 

This brought a general laugh. Inspector Budd 
rejoined his companions. The motion he gave to 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


251 


his hand conveyed his contempt for me, but — might 
I have pay ore? 

Sunset was near now and the gulch already was 
in deep shadow. 

''Gents,’' said I, after a glance up the mountain, 
"I don’t want no man snoopin’ around my dirt, and 
I don’t go snoopin’ around no man’s. But yo can 
see how I am fixed fer goin’ on to-night. I’d take 
it kind in yo-alls if yo’d let me camp about heaw.” 

It was a natural request. Th forest could not 
have been passed in the dark. They looked at each 
other and kicked the sod. Finally Budd said gut- 
turally, "He might as well.” 

That was what I wanted, and I chose to say 
nothing more. Budd led the way to an open space, 
where was grass and water.. He told me signifi- 
cantly that "twenty feet was my range,” and left 
immediately. I murmured to my men : 

"Alone and safe enough.” 

They were silent. 

I repeated a third time (according to agreement), 
and they groaned and swore. 

I made busy right away, unsaddled my horse and 
unroped the mules, putting my men in good posi- 
tions to act when the time should come. Then I 
built my fire. 

But my hands lagged at the task. What was 
going on yonder in the gulch? Were they, now 
that they had time to think it all over, talking them- 
selves thirsty for my blood? It would be an easy 
matter to shoot me down as I stood in the light of 
my fire. I heard a crackle in the brush and my 
breath stopped. 

It was Budd. He joined me at my fire. His 


252 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


cupidity had been aroused by my big talk of gold, 
and he came to take up my offer to barter dust for 
bacon. This part of the plan of capture had been 
suggested by Red ; he knew that the heart of every 
moonshiner lay, not in whiskey but in gold. I took 
Budd’s offer — a hatful of dust for a slab of bacon. 

I filled his hat part full of dirt from one bag, 
then paused to ask if he wanted some dirt from 
both my leads. He did. So into the hat of copper- 
colored earth I poured some dust plentifully 
sprinkled with free gold. 

‘T ain’t got so much o’ this heaw,” I casually in- 
formed him. ^Tt is from a new lead — one I just sot 
in on.” 

Budd received the hat from me in very evident 
excitement. I accompanied him on his return to 
bring back the bacon. At the gulch I found what I 
had taken to be a corral to be a stockade of tall, 
barked poles, which were well set and extended 
around to the natural barrier of rocks, thus making 
their position doubly impregnable. Two men met 
us at the gate. 

“You can’t come in,” one said to me. “He can’t 
come inside, can he, Budd ?” 

“No, I’ll fetch his meat.” 

I kept talk going until Budd returned, then took 
my meat and went back to my camp. It was evi- 
dent from the movements and talk inside the stock- 
ade that a gang had just come in and were un- 
saddling. I knew that the freighters of the last 
shipment were due about this time. I knew that 
Hooven had gone out with that gang. Therefore, 
the fight had come to where I had wanted it all 
along — an issue between him and me. Another 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


253 


day and he or I would know a master. I lashed 
my faultering courage with thoughts of victory; I 
warmed, as best I could, the chill that ran in my 
blood, and laid instructions, strong as steel, on my 
men. Then I made out to eat some supper, for I 
might be watched. This done, I lay down and 
talked a while with Red. 

A part of the gang would be out soon to see the 
dust I had in my packs — this was Red’s idea of the 
situation, and it was mine. If I had enough of the 
rich dust with me to make it worth while, I would 
be shot without notice, — that would be the plan. If 
I had only a little, then steps would be taken to get 
the location of the lead out of me by fair means or 
foul. If we understood human nature all this would 
come to pass. 

I had not long to wait. Whispered words, and 
the cracking of twigs in the direction of the gulch 
soon reached my listening ear. I rose up to greet 
my visitors, and was surprised to find my brain 
clear and my nerves steady. I even hoped for 
Hooven, but a glance showed that he had not come. 

We talked a while of Arkansas, of hunts and of 
game. I told a story of a tussle I had with a wild 
sow, whose litter I unwittingly disturbed. It was a 
tall story, and one I had not had opportunity before 
of telling, owing to its recent happening. But the 
point hung on the fact that I did not dare use my 
gun, or these men themselves would hear the shot. 
Consequently I was obliged to change the climax, 
and so ended rather lamely to the disgust of my 
audience — a disgust they made manifest in appro- 
priating the story-telling to themselves. 

I found it hard to give attention. Their wit was 


254 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


not extreme, and my mind ran always to the 
thought, “What next? What next? How will the 
first move be made, and when? What is in the 
minds of these big ruffians sitting around my fire? 
Assuredly it was not all of gold they were thinking. 
They had not forgotten their still. Were they, like 
me, playing for a favorable chance? And so watch- 
ing their faces and listening for something under 
their words, I soon detected the current we had 
anticipated. 

“Ever do any prospectin’, Budd?” inquired one 
of the big fellows beside him. 

Budd gave him a look. 

“I mean any in any State but Arkansas?” 

“Been prospectin’ ever since I was haired-out, — 
fer a wife.” 

“Want a woman that is pure gold, do yo?” I 
asked. But another spoke up. 

“Shucks take a copper one, Budd !” 

They laughed uproariously, ending this lead, 
which had not taken the desired turn. Budd leaned 
forward, nursing his knee, and sang hoarsely, “I’d 
hate to hev a half-breed call me dad.” It brought 
another laugh and much coarse wit. I sat still, 
amazed at my own feeling. Fear had gone — I was 
surprised to find that no sensation had taken its 
place. I was numb; my hands, lying in my lap, 
were like small boulders; I strove to move one, 
and, in its lightness, it flew up and struck my face. 
Was my body going to go to sleep, and leave my 
mind alert to look on while I was dismembered ? I 
shifted my position, but without effect. 

“I did some prospectin’ oncet, in Colora-ado,” 
said the man beside Budd. “There is a right smart 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


255 


of difference between the minerals of that State 
and this, — in the looks, I mean/’ 

'‘Injuns is good prospectors,” I said, and found 
my tongue unwieldy. 

"Nothin’ of the kind,” said Budd. 

"My friend, you don’t know your red brother,” I 
said with decision. "My best strike down yondah 
was made with an Injun guide.” 

"Huh !” Bud sneered while the others scowled 
upon him, "You don’t show your great wealth in 
your way of dressin’, do you? We could smell you 
all as soon as you came out of the timber.” 

I gave him a hurt look. I had struck the key- 
note of all their thought, and I gripped my mind 
to hold to it. "Maybe yo-alls don’t think that an 
Injun can find gold easy,” I said, "but let me tell 
yo that he can. Nuggets — that is what he goes 
aftah, and that is what he gets. Dust don’t interest 
him none, nor silver, nor iron, but gold! Take a 
buck that is in love, and has got to win the girl by a 
gift better than any other buck can get for her — 
what does he do? Why, if it is a real sure enough 
case of love, he goes to the medicine man ; he gives 
the medicine man ponies, skins, arrows, — anything, 
mebbe everything he has got. And the medicine 
man — what does he give the buck? Any of yo-alls 
know what he gives to him?” 

They shook their heads and waited expectantly. 
I put another stick on the fire — we might be need- 
ing a good light any time now — and resumed: 

"The medicine man gives him a wand, or a stick, 
— that’s all it is, just a forked stick. And the buck 
goes out into the mountains with it. He walks and 
walks, and carries that stick all the time balanced 


256 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


on his hand. Weeks it takes him, mebbe months, 
but some day he comes, lean and hungry and hol- 
low-eyed, to a place — a pocket likely between two 
boulders — he has seen a hundred such places since 
he started out — but here his stick dips ! — he bal- 
ances it, and it dips again ! — he pokes around some 
in the loose dirt, but don’t find any gold. Trembling 
with hope and fear, he balances the stick again, and 
the third time it dips ! Then he flings himself on 
the earth; he wrenches at stones with his iron 
strength; he pulls out tough roots; he claws the 
dirt up like a dog, till finally, in among the roots 
and stones, he finds little, glistening particles of 
gold. He digs faster, his hands bleedin’ as he claws 
at rocks, and roots like wire, till he finds what he 
wants — nuggets of pure gold! He gathers up a 
few — a dozen, mebbe, — for he must give some to 
the girl’s paw, and the old chief of the tribe, he will 
have to be fixed with one or two. Then he starts 
back, love leadin’ him on a long, swingin’ trot. He 
hunts now, and feeds himself, and as he travels, he 
rubs the largest nugget he’s got with flint rock, — 
rubs it till it shines like a star in his hand. Yo bet 
he gets the girl, all right ! Didn’t yo-alls ever hear 
about that thing?” 

Some of the number expressed themselves as 
having heard of something of the kind. One asked, 
had I ever seen a buck do the thing. I said : 

‘‘Why, ya-as. I told yo that was how I found 
my best lead.” 

They did not even wink as they watched and 
listened. One said : 

“Your new lead, you say?” 

“Ya-as, the new one, — the one I ain’t worked 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


257 


much. I am goin’ back there when I get my grub 
stake — I’m goin’ to file on that claim and work it 
right and safe.” 

''You say you was just taggin’ a fool Injun 
around when you found it?” 

"I was sure with a buck — one that had passed all 
that he had over to the medicine man for a stick 
that would dip for gold. Yo-alls see there was an- 
other buck as wanted his girl, and that buck had 
more ” 

"And he just took a few nuggets, and left you 
there with the hull thing to yourself?” 

"Ya-as. Yo see the gold was nothin’ to him. It 
was the girl he wanted. And if he was gone too 
long, she might ” 

"But he took the stick away with him, I reckon ?” 

"No, he throwed it down there — it was no more 
use to him. The medicine man he makes them 
whenever there is enough ponies or skins to make 
it worth his while. It’s queer how them Injuns ” 

"You didn’t see where he throwed that stick, I 
reckon ?” 

"Why, yes, he throwed it right down there when 
he began diggin’, and he never picked it up no 
more. That feller told me, in his queer Injun jab- 
berin’ — I couldn’t make him out for some days, not 
bein’ up on Cherokee — that a buck will go out like 
he’d done, and wander over the mountains till he 
drops dead of thirst or starvation, — I’v seen their 
bones, but I never thought much about how they 
came to be there. I reckon yo-alls have seen them, 
too, when yo been prospectin’. Them bucks can’t 
carry no firearms with them, yo know, and they 
are that love-crazy that they won’t waste time to 
snare, so if luck is agin ” 


258 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


“Why can’t they carry no firearms?” 

“Why, metal, yo know, affects the stick. It won’t 
dip if yo got so much as a pocket knife onto yo. 
So one of the fellers will just keep goin’ day after 
day, until ” 

“Maybe that there stick won’t work none for a 
white man?” 

“Oh, white or red, it’s all one to the stick ! But 
say, ain’t it strange how love will get a holt on a 
man? Injuns and niggers seem to go crazier under 
it than a white man will — it drives one of them on 
and on till he is dead. Why, that buck I was with 
nearly run me to death, for all I did my best to put 
sense in him, and made him eat and rest some. But 
the minute it was light enough for him to see that 
stick, he’d start on his long, swing trot, hills and 
rocks, up or down, it was all one to him. And I’d 
just have ” 

“You say it will point to stuff a long ways off?” 

“Ya-as, quite a smart ways it will. But when yo 
get into the mountains it’s confusin’ some, yo bet. 
The tarnal stick will vere a little, and when yo turn 
that way, it will swing back ; yo try it over, and it 
will be the same. Then other times yo think yo 
got a point and yo come to a boulder or a clump of 
brush that yo must walk around, and yo loose your 
pint, and never can pick it up. And so yo go on. 
It’s enough to make a sane man crazy.” 

“Why didn’t yo bring the damned hocus-pocus of 
a stick along with you ?” 

“I’ve got it safe, yo kin bet! But I’ve got as 
good as kin ask located down yondah, and yo-alls 
have got a good strike in heaw, so we don’t need 
no Injun helps.” 


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259 


They looked at each other, but spoke no word — 
interest was too great for any by-play. One said : 

'Td give a dollar to see that stick.'’ 

'T could make that dollar easy — it's yondah in 
my pack," I said, alert for a move. 

It came. They sprang up as one man, and rushed 
for my packs, which lay half-concealed by a boulder. 
I stopped them with an angry shout. 

“Stop thar! Don't yo touch a hand to my dirt!" 

They stopped, every one. I was in a great tem- 
per at this attempted liberty. They strove to pro- 
pitiate me. 

“Oh, come, Mossback," said Budd. “We don't 
care a hang about the dirt you've got — it's good, of 
course, but the stick — can't we see the stick?" 

“Course, we don't mean to swipe none of your 
gold," said another. “We have got hills of it here 
— ain't we, boys ? We didn't mean nothin'." 

I cooled down then and we were seated. In fact, 
I found it quite necessary to sit, for my limbs were 
shaking under me in a manner altogether new to 
them. To show the gang that my amicability was 
partly restored, I said: 

“I'd bring the stick out for yo-alls, only I'd have 
to unrope a lot." 

“I'll help," one volunteered. “Come on! I'll 
help !— we'll all help !" 

I shook my head. “It wouldn't work nohow — 
with all of us with our guns on." 

They sat silent and crestfallen, staring off into 
the night. Right then would have been a good time 
to act, but I waited for a better. 

“Do you mean to say now, that if there was any 
gold about here, that stick would turn of itself 
and pint to it ?" Budd asked, deeply earnest. 


260 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


"‘Sure it will! — why, I have had it to turn me 
plumb around ! If yo-alls are so curious about that 
stick that it’s apt to spoil your sleep, I’ll unrope — 
only, it wouldn’t work, as I told yo.” 

They whispered together. Three walked away in 
the brush to talk it over, a fourth followed them. 
While they were away I picked up some brush and 
started to replenish my fire. A moonshiner stopped 
me — it “wa’n’t safe,” he said. I desisted with 
apologies, and stirred the coals out as if to hasten 
the extinguishment of the blaze. I had another 
lighting scheme. 

The four came back. 

“Will you lay off your belt and gun first? If 
you will, then we will lay ours off and see the 
stick point,” said one. 

I agreed readily. “Sartin! — it is nothin’ to me, 
as yo-alls know. I am only one to all of yo, and a 
weak one at that — yo could do as yo please with 
me, armed or unarmed, but I trust a brother pros- 
pector every time.” And off came my gun. 

I laid my gun and belt on a rock near the fire, 
and beside them, after much deliberate search, I 
put my money and my knife. They followed my 
lead, and did it without hesitation until the last 
man. 

“Hanged if I like this,” he said, pausing in the 
act of unbuckling his belt. “I ain’t been without a 
gun or a knife, or something, since I was big enough 
to hold to ’em. By goll, boys, you all can ” 

“It is all right,” I said easily, but feeling the sweat 
start from every pore. “It is all right.” 

“By cracky, it may be all right, but tarn my mangy 
hide, fellers ” 


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261 


I turned sharply, and there was a stir among the 
hot coals. 

is all right r 

And it was all right. This was the signal agreed 
upon, and before the words had fairly left my lips, 
my men were springing over the rocks. A red blaze 
shot up from where the coals had stirred, lighting 
the place as with a searchlight, and bringing into 
view distant trees and rocks. I saw men beside 
me fall as if from a thunderbolt; I saw Red leap 
on the pile of guns, while he held two men at 
the point of his revolver. Then — for me the light 
was extinguished, and the fight ended. I lay on 
the ground in a dead swoon of utter exhaustion. 

They worked with me, when they had time, using 
cold water and brandy. But those moonshiners 
who had remained at the cabin inside the stockade 
were captured and bound before I opened my eyes 
to returning consciousness. I saw Red standing 
looking down at me. My lips formed the word, 
‘‘Hooven.’^ 

He shook his head. 

I struggled up to an elbow. ‘'Logan I panted. 
“You have got him. Red?’’ 

“No,” he said, calmly. “No. Yu lay down now, 
and I’ll tell yu ” 

“It was you,” I cried out in my despair, “you 
that let him escape ! And I trusted you ! I trusted 
you !” 

I sank back on the blankets they had spread 
down. To me all was in vain — nothing had been 
accomplished. 

“He was not ovah there,” said Red, as he crowded 
the blankets up for a pillow. 


262 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘'Not there? — not at the cabin? — did you search 
the gulch?” 

Red nodded his head. “He didn't come in with 
them othahs yu spoke of.” 

“He didn't come? Who warned him, then?” I 
asked, in a voice that sounded far and faint to my 
ears. And the words were followed by an echo 
that awoke from every bush and rock and hill ; 
faint, too, it was, yet sharp, and it said : “Red 
warned him.” And hearing it I dropped oif again 
to insensibility. 

We started on the way south at sunup. My men 
destroyed the property of the gulch, except such as 
was necessary to keep as evidence against the cap- 
tives. I left everything to them and to Red. Am- 
bition, hope, thought even, had gone out of me. I 
did what I was told to do, if I could, nor cared a 
farthing what it was. So we came, at length, to 
Herrington, and malaria, finding little flesh on me 
to quake, was rattling my bones. 

In the days that followed, while I lay at the hos- 
pital, that question forever ran through my fevered 
head : “Did Red warn Hooven ?” Sleeping or 
waking, it was there, tormenting me. But when the 
fever was broken, and health began to warm the 
current of my blood, I answered it once and for 
all. 

And so, I hope, you, too, have answered it, dear 
reader. For you know Red now, as well as I know 
him, — I hope you do. I have tried to show him to 
you in the innermost parts of him — ^his love, his 
devotion to duty, his aversion to wrong, as he held 
each sacred to himself. And having done this, I 
leave the answer to you. 


t HE UPPER TRAIL 


263 


At the hospital, some weeks later, Red visited 
me. I touched once on my suspicions, but he turned 
this ofif, saying lightly, ''A sick man is queer.” And 
he began at once to tell me the news of the ranch. 

Since the shipment, the gang had been busy 
branding and cutting calves. Grass was good — had 
cured with the sugar in the blade. The steer herd 
was full of antics. One broke a leg and the gang 
was feeding on roast ace high and as good as pos- 
sum. Sleepy had sent me some word, and Red 
chuckled over this. It was : Arkansas skunks have 
upset the feedin' quailties of better men than you. 
Quit bearin' witness to where you've been or you'll 
queer your friends. When the smell gets oflf your 
hide a little more, you can come back here.'' 

The other boys had sent me like messages. They 
were like a fresh breeze from the plains, these tales 
Red told to me. And I began to feel the first 
stirring of desire to be up and doing again. But 
Red had yet more stirring things to relate, and this 
he saved back, author-like to the last. 

'‘Ed's with us again,'' he began, after we had 
talked of many things ; "came in some days ago, 
bareback on a plug pony. His wife has gone home 
to her folks and Ed is adrift again. She took every- 
thing he had — which was little enough, I reckon — 
everything, that is, but his saddle. That she left 
to him when she took the last hawss from undah it. 
Ed traded the saddle for the plug pony, and so got 
across to us. But the boys chipped in for him, and 
Ed is ridin' like a white man again. He is a fool 
yet. Marryin' didn't affect him none — only gave 
him more ways of showin' off his foolishness. The 
boys have figured it out that she kept him wound 


264 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Up tight all the time, like a clock that won’t run, so 
now that he has got started talkin’ he’ll have to go 
on till he gets run down — which has been double 
eight days already.” 

‘'When did it happen ? — the separation ?” I asked. 

“A couple of months back. Ed says that they 
separated once before, but she came back that time. 
He has been punchin’ off and on for Morton.” 

Morton? How long had it been since I had 
thought of that great, fat, waddling man? My 
mind slipped back to bygone days. To me Morton 
and Ed belonged to that past when Texas was a 
vast domain of surprises, rank with whiskey and 
poor food, wherein dwelt Chad Harris and a score 
of figures already grown dim in the background of 
memory. Red brought me back. Speaking in 
quiet unconcern of the import of his words, he 
said : 

“Ed brought a great tale to us. Said Hooven 
came to Morton’s one night — stopped there on his 
way up from seein’ my — my folks — and told Mor- 
ton he’d come for money owin’ to him. Morton 
laughed at him, but Hooven was hot from the 
start, and Morton’s big talk made him hotter, right 
along. He claimed there was a big wad of cash 
due to him from Morton. Ed says Hooven said 
this : ‘Gimme my share of that last shipment.’ The 
Major said: ‘That last shipment was all my own 
stuff, boy.’ ” 

“Hooven said : ‘When did the stars take to rainin’ 
down yearling steers?’ 

“‘The Major said: ‘B’ gin! Them steers was 
every hoof dropt on this ranch ! They had the 
marks on ’em of them dun bulls I put into my herd 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


265 


a year ago last Fall. I can show you the cows that 
mothered 'em.’ 

''Hooven said : 'You’d suck a cow into milk- 
givin’ rather than pay an honest debt.’ 

"Morton told him to go to the hot place. 

"Hooven told Morton that he needn’t to think, 
because Chad was dead, that he could swindle the 
gang. Hooven said that he had friends and he had 
money, and he’d make the Major do the right 
thing. 

"Morton laughed and said: 'You can collect that 
money, Zant, when you are ready to face a court.’ 

"Then Hooven swore he’d kill Morton inside a 
year. And that was all Ed heard, for the moon 
came out and he got afraid he’d be caught listenin’.” 

I asked Red many questions about this, but he 
shook his head to all of them. "I have knowed that 
Morton wasn’t straight,” he said, and that was the 
last word that I could get from him. 

When he had gone I lay and thought. One evi- 
dent fact held me. When we raided the moon- 
shiner’s gulch, Hooven was with Joseph Levering. 
It added a bitterness to my defeat, and I believe 
retarded my recovery. But when Red came again, 
I was ready to accompany him to R 2 Rancho, 
where my convalescence went on rapidly. But it 
was Autumn and Winter before I saw town again. 
Of the many things, peculiar, startling and com- 
monplace, that befell us in that time, I will mention 
only one, for it concerns Red, and concerns him 
most mightily. It must form the subject of the 
next chapter. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


ABOVE SWEETWATER CROSSING. ^ 

A warm drizzle of rain set in with a southeast 
wind, and lasted for three days. The cattle stood 
about in dark groups on the prairie burred by the 
gentle rain. The great levels around them stretched 
away in soft mists, cooled and freed from dust by 
the wet, and full of sweet scents. Our horses 
slipped and slid under us as we rode out at intervals 
to see if the herd was moving. All was quiet. 
Nothing stirred save the invisible wind, and the 
warm rain which it drove against a cheek was like 
the perfumed breath of love. 

These rides out in the calm and the wet left me 
steeped in reverie. I thought, and my thoughts 
were nothing ; I planned, and knew as I did so that 
the sun would show them as mists of the storm. 
At the bunk house the boys played cards, and 
smoked and swore. As one came in or went out, 
a breath from the cool, wet world reached me grate- 
fully. And then, after a third night with the rain 
beating evenly above my head, and the eaves drip- 
ping like a steady pulse-throb, I awoke to find the 
sun shining out of a sky as high and clear as cre- 
ation's first morning. Even as I dressed, the odor 
of green grass came to me, and outside I found 
flowers opened upon sod that the day before was 
barren soil. And how warm it was ! Such a heavy, 
moist, stifling warm! V 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


267 


At the cook shack the boys were at breakfast. 
They had been up since dawn, and declared they 
could hear the grass growing out on the range. 
Red and Sleepy returned, as I came in, from round- 
ing up the beef herd. 

''Well start them for the railroad to-day,'' Red 
said, as he seated himself. ‘'My awders was for 
the 15th, and this is the 5th, but them steers will 
run themselves raw-boned in five days with this 
green grass. So, Ed, yu " p, 

Here followed minute instructions from the fore- 
man to his men — those who were to accompany him 
and those who were to conduct the ranch during 
his absence. Ed was sent to town to notify the 
company of the start of the herd, and to get the 
cars in. Then, at the last. Red spoke to me. 

‘T kind of run this thing ovah in my head as I 
came up, and figured on yu goin' with us. But if 
the trip don't strike yu " 

He waited for my answer. I was a kind of star 
boarder at the rancho. Receiving no wages, I came 
and went as fancy dictated, or my health seemed 
to require. I had taken on some flesh during the 
last few weeks — more than I had carried for ten 
years — and I was at a loss to determine whether 
work put it there or might take it off. But the trip 
struck me. 

‘T'll go," I said. 

Red was giving directions about fitting up the 
chuck wagon that was to accompany us on our 
slow trip to Herrington, but he looked at me, as 
he talked, and nodded satisfaction that I was to go 
along. His mind was full of business. This was 
the last shipment of beef stuff; these steers had 


268 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


been held on the range until all the corn-fed stuff of 
the North had gone in, and the market was strong 
again after its slump. 

The aforesaid market had been an important 
thing with all of us for several weeks ; its ups and 
downs were the ups and downs of the rancho. And 
I was surprised, at times even amazed, to observe 
with what care and solicitude for their welfare even 
the meanest of the ranch force minded those huge 
beef steers. Their fatness was the especial pride 
of each of us. Their antics, the fights they had, 
the runs they took, even the way one happened to 
cock his tail or bawl, was sufficient to be related, 
amid great attention, at table. And, while none of 
the boys, I think, did this to hold his job, it was a 
well-known fact that Red would fire a man quicker 
for inattention to the beef herd than for any other 
thing. Each man had to hold those steers as dear 
as if they were his individual property — and that 
from the birth of the calf to the shipment of the 
steer. Perhaps that was why Red had held the fore- 
manship of R 2 rancho for three years, with a 
steady increase of salary. And certainly it was with 
no fear of censure from his employers that he now 
moved this same beef stuff to market ten days in 
advance of orders. He had proven that their in- 
terests were his. 

I was thinking of all this when I arose from the 
breakfast table. The room was hot and filled with 
the smoke of baking cakes, no air was coming in to 
blow it out. I moved hastily, for I had some prep- 
arations to make for the trip. But just as I reached 
the opening, the heavy door swung to with a bang. 
I pushed it open, and an icy wind struck me a sur- 




! 


I 








THE UPPER TRAIL 


269 


prised blow in the face ; the sun, which a few min- 
utes before had appeared a great, glowing ball, was 
now a small, pale oval, almost obscured by a haze, 
through which it swam like a swimmer frightened 
by sharks. I heard exclamations behind me. The 
boys arose as one man and rushed out. 

Their faces whitened. ''A norther !” I heard 
them say in hushed tones. And they ran to the 
bunk house for coats and gloves. 

Red shouted commands : ''The beef men V I 
heard, and "Side-wind them all yu can ! — Keep 

them east, boys ! — Say ! ’’ But the wind was 

blowing his words down his throat. 

I ran to the bunk house and did as the others 
did. I put on my chaps and heaviest coat, and then 
my slicker on top of all. My ears already were 
tingling, and I dragged out a cap. The wind was 
howling when I went out, and tossing loose objects 
about like a maddened bull. Already on the driving 
blast there were sharp barbs of ice that stung when 
they struck the flesh. 

No man was in sight when I mounted my horse. 
I noticed, as I galloped with the wind for this first 
mile, that the sun was entirely obscured, and the 
world made narrow by the driving barbs of sleet. 
The little flowers, which a half hour ago had lifted 
up their sweet, delicate faces so trustingly to the 
warm light, now were bent and blackened. 

The beef herd had been bedded in the valley of 
Double Mountain Fork. But when I suddenly 
found my horse leaping the narrow stream, I saw 
no cattle, and listening, heard no shouts from lusty 
cow-punchers. However, at a little distance, I 
found the wet sod entirely chopped by the flying 


270 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


hoofs of the heavy steers, and almost immediately 
this rough trail began to veer a little east. I knew 
then that the boys had struck their lead here, and 
were doing their foreman's bidding well. But likely 
it was Red himself who galloped beside the fore- 
most steer in the mad run of those huge, lunging, 
pounding bodies. 

Ail day I rode, my left side coated with an inch 
of ice, my eyes stinging, my side face torturing me. 
The trail led on. Once I came upon a fine, fat steer, 
prone on the earth, dead and coated with ice; his 
tongue was lolled out, his eyes bulging — he had 
suffocated, being too fat to run. I rode on. The 
prairie fell behind, and was replaced by brakes and 
bluffs. Vegetation changed, and I forced my horse 
across gullies and down slippery hills, then through 
tangled depths of grass standing in water in which 
were long slivers of ice. And still on, to where the 
hills were higher, and their sides a sticky, slipper- 
ing clay, but dotted here and there with clumps of 
scrag pine. I had hopes that the boys had stopped 
the herd among these brakes and hills, and would 
hold them for the night. But when darkness fell I 
had found nothing but empty, water-soaked desola- 
tion. And, realizing that I should only lose time 
by attempting to go further, I drew rein beside a 
sheltering cliff, dismounted and made ready to 
spend the night as best I could. 

The storm had spent itself. Already, through the 
drifting clouds, the stars peeped down like fearful 
children from the windows of home. But the wind 
was still icy cold, and my horse and I drew near to 
the bluff. I gathered some brush, and tramped the 
ice off the green branches for a bed. I had nothing 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


271 


to eat, and with everything wet, a fire was out of 
the question. So I lay down, determined to make 
the best of things as they were. My bones ached 
with the torturing saddle-pain, and my whole weary 
body hailed even this chance of repose. But after 
the first flush of warmth and comfort, I found my- 
self growing wider and wider awake. I turned 
several times nervously, and brought fresh damp- 
ness against my warm body. My uneasiness was 
senseless. I had nothing to worry over. The boys 
had the steers bedded long before this. I could do 
nothing alone in the darkness — was, in fact, making 
the best possible progress keeping still. I forced 
myself to lie quiet until warmth again pervaded my 
bed ; but again, it was no use. My eyes stared up 
at the stars, which had come wholly out now; my 
ears listened attentively, and heard nothing, for the 
wind had fallen off, and wild animals were all in 
their lairs. Perhaps an hour passed, and then to 
my listening ears there came the far away, yet dis- 
tinct crow of a cock. Disgusted with myself I turned 
again. 

Then suddenly I found myself bolt upright in 
my bed of boughs. I must have dozed for an in- 
stant, but what had disturbed me? As I sat there 
it seemed that something was calling me. And my 
horse was moving restlessly, stepping his feet and 
tossing his head. 

‘‘Hello!’’ I shouted. 

There was no sound. My horse became quiet 
again. I lay down. And then a sudden thought 
struck me — the camp was near! And Red and the 
boys were searching for me. I sprang up instantly, 
and clambered, amid much dislodged earth, to the 
top of the cliff. 


272 


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‘‘Hello ! Hello-o I shouted lustily. 

I heard a faint answer, and then it seemed that 
several answered that. I shouted again, and waited. 
Then took a paper from my pocket, jammed it 
tightly among the twigs of a branch, and lighted it. 
Three distinct shouts answered this. And, almost 
immediately, a horse dashed at full speed to me, 
plowing up earth and gravel in his sudden stop. 
The face of Sleepy peered at me from the horse’s 
back. 

“Here I am !” I said joyfully. But his look struck 
me chill. 

“Where’s Red?” he asked. 

“Where?” I gasped. “Haven’t you seen him? 
Isn’t he with the herd?” 

He did not answer me. He put his hands to his 
mouth, and there went out from his lungs a sound 
like a siren blast. It said, “Come here.” Then 
swinging out from his saddle he snatched the burn- 
ing torch from my hand, and standing on his feet in 
his saddle he lifted it high. When he heard the 
answering yelps of the boys, he spoke to me. 

“Red is hurt ! — killed ! — we don’t know what ! 
He was the first man to the steers. He guided the 
lead and slowed them down to a trot almost right 
away. We had them cornin’ our way all day. But 
at the top of the raise back yonder. Red let them 
swing south for these hills for night. It was down 
grade, and the wind failin’ off let the ice melt, and 
the cold water was tricklin’ down in their hair. 
They broke away from us, and came down at a run, 
kickin’ up their heels and bawlin’ as they bucked. 
Us fellers alongside tried to hold the herd down 
to the lead, but they just ducked their heads down 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


273 


and their heels up, and broke ranks for shelter. It 
wasn't no particular harm, so we just jogged with 
them until they left us behind, and then we rode 
along slow in their trail. They are gathered under 
the brakes just east of here, and are as quiet as 
lambs. But Red is gone! It wa'n't no stampede 
like a man couldn't get out of the way of, and Red 
wouldn't try to run opposition to them steers, no 
way you can think it. The thing is — his horse might 
have fell. But then, why don't we find him? — or 
the horse? We have been over the ground enough 
to have run onto them if they was both dead. It's 
mighty queer ! — tarnal queer !'’ 

I told him that I had come along the trail all the 
way and not heard anything, or seen any sign of 
man or beast. 

And now the others came up. The disappoint- 
ment that it was me, and not Red, whom Sleepy had 
found, was plainly told in each face. I was sorry 
myself. But I would add one to the search party, 
and we had to be content with that. 

We searched that wild wet slope for hours, riding 
abreast and close enough to scan every foot of 
ground we covered. A cliff or gulch, over which 
Red might have gone in his ride before that on- 
coming herd, we searched on foot, hoping, yet fear- 
ing to find him there. I never knew a search to be 
conducted under less favorable circumstances. The 
starlight was just sufficient to distort the vision ; the 
clay slope so slippery that our horses with diffi- 
culty kept their feet under us; and sometimes a 
sheltered crust of ice crushed under foot like the 
cracking of human bones, and sent a shiver of 
horror along the spine ; often an impassable barrier 


274 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Opened in front of us, and when we had gone 
around it, our course was lost, and was, with diffi- 
culty recovered; until when near dawn, it seemed 
that the earth must have opened and swallowed 
our beloved friend, horse and all. As we counciled 
together, loth to give up, a sudden thought struck 
me, and I called to Sleepy. 

‘'I didn't give credence to the thing at the time," 
I said, my teeth chattering with cold, '‘but as I lay 
down there under the bluff, trying to make myself 
sleep, I thought I heard a rooster crow. I thought I 
heard it twice." 

"Well," said Sleepy, irritable in his worry, "what 
if — God a-mighty, boys, somebody has seen Red 
and picked him up!" 

All excitement over this possibility, we went back 
to my bluff. If a rooster had crowed when the 
clouds passed in the night, so that I heard him 
there, that same rooster would crow again when 
dawn broke. We sat waiting and listening. The 
dawn came. Daylight tinged the eastern sky, and 
the stars went out. But no cock's challenge greeted 
the new-born day. 

"Maybe the infernal rooster, bein' disturbed that 
a-way in the night, is sleepin' late this mornin'," 
said a cow-puncher, when we were all convinced 
that it was a phantom rooster that I had heard. 

"Red would have said just that," said Sleepy, and 
we were silent again. 

Just then, on the stillness, it came! Our hands 
dropped. Our mouths opened. We stared around. 
Then it came again, from high up across the valley. 
Sleepy gave a joyful yelp and sprang toward his 
horse. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


275 


''I know where he is ! I can go as straight to that 
old cock as if a line was drawn for me to foller. 
But itdl take an hour. So yu all go to the steers — 
hold them in the brakes as long as yu can. They 
will be up and movin' by now, so git you ! — quick ! 

Him ” with a jerk of a thumb toward me, ''and 

me will find Red and bring you news." 

Never did I attempt to follow a man more deter- 
mined to make his way over every obstacle than 
was Sleepy Smith that Spring morning; and never 
did anxiety goad me to greater efforts. Neverthe- 
less, when we reached the spot which Sleepy had 
marked with his unerring eye, the sun was an hour 
high. 

But we had come true. A little beyond the land- 
mark we beheld a building, half rock, half logs, in 
front of which, surrounded by hens, busily 
scratched the rooster whose voice had been our 
guide. And beyond that on the same level, we saw 
a cabin, with smoke rising from its chimney. How 
it ever happened I cannot say, but I reached the 
door ahead of Sleepy. And there, when it opened, 
stood a thin woman, in a wrapper of faded blue — 
I shall never forget it — which buttoned plain across 
her spare breast. At my anxious query, she said: 

"Yes, he is here — a hurt man is here." 

She held the door in a tight, nervous grasp as 
she spoke. She was frankly afraid of us. I gave 
Sleepy a look, but that tall cow-puncher, with his 
slouch hat, spurs and revolver, and mustache 
bristling fierce as a porcupine, without more for- 
mality, strode past me and past the woman into the 
house. 

It was a small cabin, and spotlessly clean. You 


276 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


saw these things first, because there was nothing 
else to see. The woman had pretty eyes, large and 
brown, and she turned them in questioning fear 
from the big Sleepy to me. But at my nod of assur- 
ance, she followed the cow-puncher, and we came 
to a bed, on the white sheets and coverlid of which 
was the blood of our Red. 

He did not know us. He lay with his strong face, 
pale under the tan, and his red hair trowseled on 
the pillow. Sleepy touched his hand and lifted an 
eyelid, talking all the while, a lot of loving sym- 
pathy for his friend, that brought tears to my eyes, 
and drove all fear of him forever from the woman. 

'‘His collar-bone is broken, and ’’ She lifted 

a wet pad from his temple, showing an ugly wound 
there. 

"A stone’s done that,” said Sleepy, "when he fell. 
I knowed his horse stumbled.” 

"We saw him,” the woman continued, "that is, 
we saw something across there on the slope after 
the cattle had passed. And my brother — he has 
gone for a doctor now — he and I went over to see 
what it was. We found him lying just as he fell, 
and his horse right there beside him. The poor 
thing! — it was trembling and lame, but it just got 
down as low as it could to let us put that big man 
up on its back. He talked some as we were bring- 
ing him up, but it was all about steers and calves, 
and birch trees, — I guess he didn’t know what he 
was saying.” 

Sleepy shook his head. He had examined Red 
pretty thoroughly. "He is beyond my skill,” he 
said, as he straightened up. "Yu say there is a 
doctor cornin’?” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


277 


''Yes/' She meekly folded her hands. "I ex- 
pect them about noon." 

"Noon?" Sleepy let his gaze travel over the 
cabin. "Not much room," he said aloud, and then 
noticing — "a thousand pardons to yu, ma'am, but 
one of us has got to stay with him. He will get 
ob-streperous, yu see, ma'am, before noon. It is 
barely 8, and fever is on him now." 

The woman nodded, and hurried away for cold 
water and fresh cloths for Red's wounds. In her 
absence Sleepy looked sorrowfully on Red while he 
spoke low to me. 

"If he could talk to us now, he'd say, 'Sleepy, yu 
go with them steers — don't yu leave them nor touch 
a drop of liquor till they are sold in Chicago. Yu 
explain how things are to the Company — tell them 
Tm laid up.' He would tell me that if he could, 
right now. So it's Sleepy for the steers. You'll 
have to stay here. Yu ought to be something of a 
nurse by now, yu've had so much sickness your- 
self." 

I told him that nothing would please me more 
than to stay and do what I could for Red. And it 
was arranged between us that if the doctor came, 
and at dark Red was better, I should build a fire 
outside on a shelving ledge of rock. If Red was 
not better at dark, and the doctor said he was going 
in to die, I was to light no fire, and Sleepy and 
the other boys would come up to be with their com- 
rade in his last hour. But 

"If he comes to all right, as I'm hopin' he will," 
said Sleepy, "mind he don't get a square look at 
that as dresses like a woman here, or he'll think he's 
dead and gone to hell." 


278 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


I promised, and with no word after this scarcely 
to be called kind remark, Sleepy left me and rode 
away down the mountain side. I took my vigil 
beside the sick. I do not know what that frail 
woman would have done alone with Red that day, 
while his fever raged and his delirium prompted 
him to every trick and cunning device to make his 
escape from the bed and us. Neither do I know 
what I should have done without the woman. At 
times he obeyed me like a child; at other times he 
resisted me like a tyrant. At times she calmed him 
with a song, or with the gentle stroke of her hand 
on his hot brow. But in one song he stopped her 
with a rough word: 

‘'Shet up he said, with a clearness that startled 
me. ‘'I ain’t dead yet.” 

And then his voice sank to a whisper. ‘'She left 
me to go and sing for the crowd,” he said sadly. 
And I knew that Birch’s secretiveness was still 
rankling in the old wound. And then soon again : “A 
woman has to give up everything for her man — it 
wasn’t in me to make her care enough ” 

His voice trailed off into a mumble, and almost 
immediately he was roping and branding calves. 
And with such close attention to detail did he go 
through all the acts that I fancied I could 
smell burning flesh ,and I noticed the woman move 
back from him with a little shiver of horror. Then 
suddenly he dropped all of this. He addressed 
ladies, and his voice was sweeter than music and no 
trace of the slang of the ranch pervaded his talk. 
He was living a life with her, I perceived, for he 
spoke her name frequently — “Birch” and “honey.” 

“To-morro’,” he said, and all the pride of the 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


279 


man was in the word, “To-morro’ I shall be with 
Birch It made my heart ache to hear him. But 
the woman across the bed, unknowing, saw only the 
vegetable in all this. With eyes shining into mine, 
she whispered: 

‘‘He must have been brought up among the 
birches — like me.'’ 

Her delight in this idea was so evident, that I 
felt mean to enlighten her, but I said : 

“No,, the ‘Birch’ he speaks of was — is a woman — 
a teacher, and a — his ” 

I paused, undecided whether to tell the truth or 
evade. By my indecision I lost. The woman spoke 
a quick little “Oh!” which forestalled me. Then 
Red, as if to help me to the evasion, broke out 
again. 

“I can say grammar correct when I try, becauses 
I learned correct at my mothah’s knee.” He 
mumbled his words then, but resumed clearly, 
“Miss Birch, yu’ll have to teach me the ‘why’ of 
all these things. And some day I’ll teach yu ” 

But here he opened his eyes and stared at me. 
He moved his wounded head. Pain cleared his 
mind a little and he saw the woman. 

“I knowed yu was here,” he said, looking at her 
and speaking in his tenderest tone, “I knowed the 
first time your hands touched me. If it wasn’t for 
yu here carin’ for me like this I couldn’t bear the 
pain.” 

She blushed furiously, and murmured incoherent 
words of self-depreciation. But she might have 
spared herself her confusion, for Red dropped ofif 
at once in a restless sleep. I was left undecided 
whether or not he had had a flash of rationality. 


280 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


But later events convinced me that his delirium was 
playing him a trick, cruel in its utter absurdity. 

While the patient slept, the woman and I talked 
softly — that is, I talked, and she answered me with 
yes and no, whenever it was possible to do so. But 
I came to know that her name was Marks, — Hope 
Marks — and that her brother, Acy, was a con- 
sumptive. They came there, were living in that 
outrageous spot, for his health. And now she told 
me, — with one of those sudden flashes of life which 
I had come to observe in her, when, with the 
stirring of some emotion, her eyes would shine with 
a brightness which was the very glow of soul-fire, — 
that she was glad to-day, for the first time, that 
they had come there, for she felt that she might 
save the life of this cowboy. And her brother’s 
health was improving slowly, — she told me this 
repeatedly, trying to convince me that she believed 
what she said. I let her think that she had done so. 

It was past noon and the doctor had not come. 
Miss Marks excused the delay with the rough, wet 
trail, and I, recalling our climb, wondered if he 
would get there at all. Red was tossing again, and 
we gave attention to him. As Miss Marks bent 
over the bed he spoke to her in a voice pitifully 
weak, but tender as a lover’s. He said : 

‘Tut your hand heyah, honey, — it aches so.” 

She put her hand on his throbbing temple, and 
he dropped off again in sleep. I was very uneasy 
for his condition. The doctor’s delay caused me 
more alarm than I cared to confess. So when Miss 
Marks went to prepare dinner, I examined Red, as 
best I could without moving or hurting him. He 
watched me without comment of any kind until I 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


281 


had wholly finished. Then, in a tone of command, 
he said: 

''Yu can call Miss Birch now, seh.’’ 

"Birch? Why, Red, listen. This is not ” 

I stopped. Bright spots burning on his cheeks 
checked my words. Why disturb him? The very 
best thing for him now would be for his love to 
come back to him. And if he believed she had 
come, why, then, to him, she had! I rearranged 
the covers over him, and had just straightened up 
when Miss Marks entered. He spoke at once to 
her. 

"Birch,” he said, and the word was the music 
of love, "yu can pay Mistah Morton what I owe 
him, and tell him, honey, that we don’t need him 
any more.” 

Miss Marks paused and looked at me, for I 
snickered out. She as Birch Halloway, and I as 
Major Morton! — could anything be more ridicu- 
lous? I snickered again, smothered it down, and 
in the end gave up and frankly laughed. For, into 
our direct opposites, had Red’s fevered imagination 
tortured the two of us. I tried to explain some- 
thing of the cause of my mirth to Miss Marks, — 
something, but not all. I did not explain all; that 
was my mistake. 

The doctor arrived at sunset, and at dark I was 
able, not without misgivings, to build my fire. He 
said it would be very long — he expected no change 
for forty-eight hours, or even ninety-six hours. In 
the meantime we could only do our best to hold the 
fever in check. He praised Miss Marks’ cleanli- 
ness and her cold water treatment. He said the 


282 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


young man owed his life to these two things. Then 
he mixed some medicine, bathed Red’s wounds 
and went to bed. The brother, Acy Marks, coughed 
incessantly, and complained, between coughs, that 
the ride in the damp air had made him worse. He 
was as selfish, peevish, and irrational as a child with 
a stone bruise. I was glad when he, too, went to 
bed. 

Miss Marks and I maintained our vigil together 
until 12. And then, after much persuading, she 
consented to take some rest. But she took rest, I 
soon perceived, as she took everything else, on the 
jump. For instance, she would drop into a chair 
as if her limbs had suddenly failed her, and the 
next moment would rise again, as if some hidden 
spring had lifted her bodily and shot her up. And 
it was just so with bed, — she was up and down, up 
and down. If Red moved or murmured, if there 
was the slightest sound or sigh, she was up and 
beside him, her eager hands soothing his brow. 
Whenever he called for Birch, this ugly phantom 
of his love was there, drinking in the music of his 
voice, basking in the ardor of his fevered glances. 
And it was so both day and night through all his 
illness. Miss Hope Marks seemed made of steel ; 
her ears were sensitized beyond those of any other 
living thing ; her feet were winged for him. At 
length I gave the job of nursing over to her alto- 
gether, and only helped with the heavier duties. 
But to Red, lying bandaged there in the snowy bed, 
I was always Morton, and Miss Marks was always 
Birch. 

One day, as I came in from taking the air, I 
found Miss Marks kneeling beside him, weeping. 
I rushed to the bed. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


283 


‘‘What is it? Has anything happened?’’ I asked 
in a fever of alarm. 

“He — he has not spoken to me all day,” she 
sobbed. 

I touched Red’s forehead with a hand. It had a 
wholesome feeling, better than usual, I thought, 
and I hastened to reassure Miss Marks. 

“There is no occasion for alarm in that,” I said 
hopefully. “As the fever abates, and he begins to 
assume a normal condition, he will, naturally, leave 
off his delirious rambling. I think it a good sign.” 

She looked up at me, and her eyes shone with 
such a lustre that she seemed transformed. “I like 
for him to talk to me. I hate to think that he will 
leave off talking when — when he is well.” She 
arose and stood looking at him, the picture of de- 
jection. “Oh, I am lonesome to-day,’^ she said, 
with a wan smile, “and tired, too, I guess.” 

I spoke such words of sympathy as occurred to 
me. I was sorry if I had failed in any way as an 
assistant. She was a cultured woman, and had 
undoubtedly been quite a beauty when young. I 
enjoyed the talks we had together — when the light 
was dim. I do not mean it unkindly, but a dearth 
of light was necessary to my enjoyment. Her voice 
was pleasant, her words well chosen, and her point 
of view always novel, and when her lean, leathery 
visage, and her dress-front, buttoned sagging and 
wrinkled, over a totally flat bust, was concealed, I 
enjoyed myself with her fully and frankly. 

Perhaps I am too fastidious for you, reader. 
But total flatness of form in a woman is my pet 
aversion. If I were a woman, and nature had failed 
to make me, or keep me — well, round, I would — 


284 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


but then you know already what I would do. And 
I expect, when I marry my Aphrodite, I shall find 
her rotundity to be all wire and ruffles. And you 
will be glad and say, ‘'It serves him right!'’ Well, 
say it! I had rather love wire and ruffles than to 
give my life trying to love vacancy. 

But to return to my subject. I was sorry for 
Miss Marks ; sorry that she led so lonely a life ; 
sorry that her brother repaid her sacrifice with 
ceaseless complaint; sorry that my rational words 
did not interest her like the rambling of a delirious 
man. Yes, I am sorry for all this, not so much 
because of its reflection upon myself and others, as 
because it indicated something moving in the with- 
ered breast of Miss Marks. And it was with this 
complication in mind that I sat down, with book 
under paper on my knee, to write to Mrs. Halloway. 
Why, I didn’t just know. But when a man sees a 
love affair growing on his hands, he always appeals 
to some woman. While thus engaged I heard Red’s 
voice — his natural voice! 

“Where are the steers?” 

I sprang up, scattering my papers, and ran in to 
him. His delirium had dropped from him at a 
stroke, and he was sitting propped with his well 
arm, all himself. 

“The steers — where are they?” 

“The steers are in Chicago by now. Red,” I said. 
“You lie down and I will tell you all about every- 
thing.” 

He lay back obediently, and I arranged the pil- 
lows to rest his injured head. His gaze wandered 
around. 

“This ain’t Morton’s — I thought I was there,” he 
said. 




THE UPPER TRAIL 


285 


I replied, smiling. ^'Your horse fell with 
you down near Sweetwater Crossing.’’ 

'‘Ya-ah, I know all that — I have known all of 
that right along. But some things have puzzled 
me a lot. How did? — well, I reckon I started in 

dreamin’ right off when I fell. This ” He 

put a hand to his head — ‘'a steer did that — his hoof 
cut in and I felt the blood run. I reckon reason 
was plumb knocked out of me for my dreams 
wasn’t near right — nothin’ was right. I knowed 
that right along, only I couldn’t seem to make them 
right.” 

I smiled at him. ‘‘You have been rather mixed 
up,” I said. “You thought I was Morton, and ” 

“Did I?” He laughed about this himself. And 
then became suddenly anxious again about the 
steers. “So Sleepy went on this mawnin’ with the 
steers ? I hoped he had.” 

“Yes,” I said, seeing plainly how mixed he was, 
but anxious not to excite him. “Yes, Sleepy went 
with the steers to the station.” 

He looked at me and a puzzled expression 
crossed his face. “Maybe it has been a day or two 
since I got hurt?” 

“Several days. Red. But you must not talk now. 
You have been very sick.” 

He lay silent, but a hand moved, touching his 
bandaged shoulder and then his bandaged head. 

“Sleepy fixed these things,” he said, “befoah he 
went ?” 

I did not answer, although he had made his words 
a question. I was so glad to see him himself again, 
so happy to find his mind so clear, that I was con- 
tent to sit and beam at him, until, in an unguarded 
moment, I spoke my delight. 


286 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘'Red, I am so all-fired glad to see you wake up 
like this. I ” 

I remembered and checked my impetuous speech. 
But he understood and pressed my hand. I squeezed 
back, and then holding his hand I looked away — he 
must not see the tears that gathered to my eyes. 
He did not, for when I looked back I found him 
inspecting the place with that close scrutiny so 
common with him. Presently he turned his eyes to 
me and drawled: 

“Where are the rabbits yu scared out of this 
place 

Rabbits? Well, it wasn’t much bigger than a 
burrough. 

“They are around — their name is Marks, Hope 
and a brother Acy.” 

“Hope ?” And now his gaze became compelling. 
I felt his fingers tighten in their grip on mine. 

“You must not talk, dear friend,” I implored. 

“No, — only this — has she — has this Hope Marks 
dark eyes like — like — do they shine?” 

“Yes,” I responded, “she has. But she — she 
isn’t ” 

“I know,” he said, and there was resignation, 
nothing else, in his tone. “I know — she looks like 
something that had died last month — all but its 
eyes.” 

I tried hard not to laugh. But my delight at his 
recovery, and his words — my will was inadequate. 
I emitted a little squeak. It brought his gaze upon 
me, deep and sorrowful. 

“Nobody cayn’t help how they look,” he said. 

“I know. I am ashamed of myself. She has 
been very kind to you — to both of us. I am 
ashamed.” 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


287 


‘‘I reckon yu have been fed right well. Your 
collar looks tighter than it did when I noticed last 
time.’’ 

I twisted my neck in the tight band, and blushed. 
I was, in truth, adding flesh to flesh. But now I 
became suddenly firm with him. 

‘'Red, you must not talk any more. I am as silly 
as a girl to let you exert yourself like this. Go to 
sleep now. You must. Red.” 

“Ya-ah, aftah this question,” he said, with his 
usual provoking persistency. “Is there something 
around here that keeps chuggin’ and chuggin’, like 
a machine?” 

“No-o.” I was puzzled; then had an idea. “Per- 
haps it is Acy Marks’ coughing that you have heard. 
He is a lunger.” 

“That’s it, — it was like a cough, some. Well, 
now,” and he gave me his rare sweet smile, “I 
reckon I am well enough acquainted to sleep here.” 

Dear Red, suffering could not make him petu- 
lant. I could not help thinking, as I looked on 
him, lying swathed in irksome bandages, that if 
Acy Marks were like him, how much more pleasant 
would be the lot of his patient sister. But such a 
thing would never be. Red slept almost immedi- 
ately, and I left him to go and inform the sister 
and brother of his happy return to consciousness. 
They received it differently: Acy with an interest 
that spoke plainly his pleasure in soon being rid of 
the two of us; his sister with a little gasp that 
might have meant either pleasure or dismay. She 
did not give me time to speculate, for she went in 
at once and began preparations for supper. But 
she did not sit down with us at table. Instead, she 


288 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


went to where Red lay, and stood motionless, 
watching him in his deep, restoring sleep. When he 
awoke an hour later, she refused my offer of assist- 
ance, and carried his supper to him herself. 

He sat propped up with pillows. And he tried — 
I could see that he tried hard, — to act natural and 
at ease with Miss Marks. 

"I reckon I’d have died if I hadn’t had so good 
a nurse,” he said. 

She understood that this was the beginning of his 
thanks to her, and it flurried her so that she slopped 
the tea on the coverlid; and that flurried her still 
more, and I had to go to her rescue. She fled in 
confusion, and I saw no more of her that evening, 
nor did Red. 

In the morning, however, she was on duty again. 
When I came in from the care of our horses, I 
found Red washed and enjoying breakfast. What- 
ever more of thanks he gave Miss Marks I never 
knew. But this I could see — understanding had 
come between them. Her eyes were red and wet 
and she trembled all day. But her confusion was 
gone, and no more tea was spilled on the coverlid. 

Red’s recovery was rapid. In a few days he had 
his clothes on and was sitting up. To while time 
away I discussed plans for when we should leave 
this mountain cabin. I preferred a week or two at 
home for him, but he was determined to return at 
once to the rancho. Miss Marks, hearing our con- 
versation, rose from some sewing in the midst of it, 
and with an abruptness that could not escape notice. 
I saw a troubled look settle on Red’s face, and he 
sat and stared at the chair she vacated. But I went 
blithely on with my plans, 


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289 


''She saved my life — she sure enough did/’ said 
Red, solemn as a funeral, and right in the midst, 
too, of a thrilling description I was giving of a duck 
hunt we should have on the Red River. So I 
dropped my subject and took up his. 

"You might put it that way,” I said, "but it is 
likely that the boys would have got you to a doctor 
about as quick, and ” 

He looked at me, and the deep sorrow in his eyes 
stopped me. 

"She don’t have half a chance,” he said, his gaze 
back on the chair. "She nevah did have — she’s 
some like me.” 

"I grant it,” I said as lightly as I could, "but so 
long as we — ^you and me — have not robbed her of 
her chance, we are not called upon to concern our- 
selves, as I see.” 

I put it to him flatly, if good humoredly. In fact, 
Red’s gentleness toward this woman, together with 
the worried look he wore almost constantly, was 
not at all to my liking. I did not think Miss Marks 
designing, but that she was a sentimental old sophist 
I hadn’t a doubt. I had been sorry to see her love 
for him spring up and grow, but for Red’s feeling 
for her I hadn’t a shade of toleration. He answered 
me abruptly: 

"But ain’t we?” he asked, turning to me a face 
of deep concern. "I mean, ain’t I robbin’ her of a 
chance?” Then as I did not answer his absurd 
query, he settled back in his chair and added reflec- 
tively, "She’d be happy at the Rancho — happy as 
a setter dog.” 

I snorted. "Good heavens. Red ! You don’t think 
of that! — of taking her there!” 


290 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘Why not?’’ 

“Wliy for?” I demanded hotly. “Surely not be- 
cause you want her there — or her brother wants 
her there — or the boys want her there — or your 
folks — or I, if I may mention myself — I don’t want 
her there ! Besides, you will not always live on the 
Rancho — what would you do with her then?” 

“Yes, — But what makes yu leave her side out 
always? Is she an animal, to be taken if she is 
needed, and left if she is not? Her brother thinks 
she is — her folks all think so, — she has always been 
led or driven to where she was needed as a con- 
venience to somebody. Cayn’t yu see how it is with 
her?” 

“Her?” I permitted myself an oath, not of her 
but for him. “What the devil is she to you. Red? 
She has nursed you, to be sure, and tended you, 
and fed you, and done it all well. And so have 
women, infinitely more lovely, nursed and tended 
me. When they were done, I paid them their 
wages, and went away and forgot them. You 
should do the same.” 

“Maybe none of your nurses evah loved yu.” 

“Perhaps no one of them did — I surely never 
took the trouble to find out,” I stated vindictively. 

“It would be like yu to do that a-way.” 

“I am glad to say that it is, just like me! — and 
like any man not lost in a fog sentiment. Red, 
shake yourself loose from this idea. It’s prepos- 
terous. Miss Marks is old enough to be your 
mother !” 

“She is only thirty-eight.” 

I snorted again. “Thirty-eight! — she looks fifty! 
— and is fifty, Red. Why, I’ll bet she is past child- 
bearing right now.” 


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291 


‘'Don’t ! Yu cayn’t say no mean thing about her 
to me,” he said, his words clinking as they fell like 
the links of a steel chain. 

“I withdraw them, then,” I said, fearing that 
anger would do him hurt. And then I made ex- 
cuse. “A man contemplating marriage should con- 
sider those things. I have heard you say ” 

He stopped me with a motion. “Yu don’t seem 
to understand things,” he said, all his sweetness 
returned. 

But this very sweetness irritated me now. I 
arose and left him. I went out for a walk, hoping 
to forget this disagreeable subject. But fortune did 
not favor me. I came suddenly upon the other 
party to the aflfair, alone and sobbing. She saw 
me, and wiped her eyes. There seemed no way out 
of it, so I approached her and inquired the cause 
of her grief. 

“My — my brother!” she sobbed. 

“Why, he is all right,” I assured her with all the 
patience I could command just then. “I encoun- 
tered him as I sat out, and he was as usual.” 

“I know, but he — he says I cannot marry Mr. 
Levering.” 

Marry Mr. So then he had already — But I 

left oflf this line of thought to call down blessings 
on brother Acy. I commended him to the saints; 
I placed him in the especial care of the Great Phy- 
sician, and craved for him a long life. In another 
moment I would have convinced myself that I 
loved him ; but Miss Marks spoke. 

“Acy says that I have to stay here with him as 
long as he lives, and I can’t I I can’t ! He says that 
he will die if I leave him, from neglect. And that 
his — his blood will be upon my head!” 


292 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘'A dreadful thing to have on one’s conscience 
surely/’ I said, and denounced myself as a brute 
before the words had left my lips. But I did not 
retract. Instead I hastened to cinch the thing. 

‘‘I do not wish to interfere, Miss Marks” — I lied 
in my best manner — '‘but your brother needs you 
badly. Your first duty is to him, as I see it — to 
your flesh and blood, you know.” 

"I have never been anything but a nurse to him,” 
she sighed, with big tears hanging to her wan 
cheeks. 

"Yes,” I said, "and it would be like taking day- 
light away from him to lose you now.” 

She ceased crying a moment to look me full in 
the face. I wondered vaguely what was passing in 
her mind. She did not leave me long in doubt. 

"You do not like me,” she stated. 

The words struck me like a blow. "I — why. Miss 
Marks, I do not deserve that ! I like you very well. 
I appreciate all that you have done for me — for 
your brother and all of us. I meant to speak for 
your good.” 

She said nothing for a moment. Her gaze was 
fixed on the opposite slope — that hillside where she 
had found Red. Then 

"You do not like me,” she stated again. "You do 
not wish Mr. Levering to marry me. You think I 
am too old — too ugly — too simple — too ” 

She stopped. I think I made some exclamation. 
The thought flashed through me — she has heard our 
talk! But I scouted the idea. No, the thing was so 
obvious that she had seen it herself. And I pre- 
sume I did wrong, and that you will say it was 
heartless, but I threw pity and all kindred emotions 
to the winds and answered her direct. 


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293 


‘‘Miss Marks, you will pardon me, I hope, but 
what you have stated is true. Listen! My think- 
ing you are old cannot add years to your life — they 
are there, and all your crying and denying cannot 
take them away. You are too old to marry Red. 
His life is just beginning — his career is just open- 
ing before him — he will make a splendid man. He 
needs a wife that is lively, accomplished, fair! He 
needs a young wife, full of hope and faith, that 
will push him on to his best — one that will hold his 
love to the very hour of her death. You are a 
sensible woman — you can see this yourself. You 
say that your life has been a bitter one of sacrifice 
to your brother. Do you want to make Red’s life a 
bitter one of sacrifice to you? Will that make for 
your happiness? Could you enjoy marriage know- 
ing that your brother had gone to his grave cursing 
you? — and that your — ^your husband had lost the 
best there was for him, because of his sacrifice to 
you? Don’t cry! You are a good cook, a splendid 
housekeeper. You have made the best of your 
chance, and that is more than the most of us can 
say of life. But so has Red made the best of his 
chance up till now, and — would you hinder him 
now? If he were like most — if he were going to 
remain a cowboy, a ranch foreman, all his days, it 
would not be so bad. But he is not. He has marked 
his place high. He is of good family. His 
mother ” 

“So!” she said, with an edge in her words that 
cut. “So am I of good family, sir !” 

“Do not misunderstand me. Miss Marks,” said I, 
as nervous as a fool, now that I had taken the leap. 
“I know you to be the soul of hospitality, and breed- 


294 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


ing and virtue. I speak as I do for the happiness of 
my friend, — for your own happiness.’’ 

‘"My happiness!” She flung the word back into 
my face. ‘‘My happiness, when you stand there and 
tell me to do that which I cannot — that which no 
woman should be asked to do by — ^by anyone. And 
then, not satisfied with that, you sprinkle a poison 
into that which would have been bliss. I could have 
been happy with him, but you have spoiled it 1 — you 
have ! Oh, you have !” 

She began to sob aloud and wildly. It seemed to 
me, standing there, that far off Herrington, nay, all 
Texas, must be hearing that heartrending crying. 
She begged me to kill her; she implored the rocks 
to fall and crush out her miserable existence; she 
let her limbs writhe in torture while she tore her- 
self with that wild, incessant sobbing. Finding 
words useless, I turned and left her. I was almost 
choked with misery. I had heard young calves bawl 
under the branding iron; I had heard negroes cry 
under the lash; I had heard a mother shriek when 
her child was killed before her eyes; and a wife 
moan when her husband swung from the hang- 
man’s block. And all these, abhorrent as they were, 
and sickening to the soul, I would hear again, if 
need were. But let me never again hear the sobs of 
a woman, stricken through her love ! 

As I hurried over rocks and swung myself boldly 
over precipices by hold on a slender reed or shrub, I 
had no thought save to escape that grief which I 
had let loose like a flood of anguish on the air. And 
I tell you now, not in the hope of justifying myself 
in any way, but merely to state a fact, that while 
those sobs were in my ears, I would have sworn 


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295 


that I loved Miss Marks could that have stopped 
them; I would have declared her beautiful; I 
would have married her! I would have done any- 
thing, except, of course, kill her — I would have 
killed myself to have stopped those cries ! But what 
I had done I knew I was powerless to undo. And 
I hastened along over rocks and among pines, until 
at length the sobbing no longer reached me. 

But I still felt it throbbing on my brain. And I 
knew, all at once, that Red had heard that sound — 
not from Miss Marks, though I was positive that 
some scene had been between them — ^but what he 
had heard and suffered for days and nights to- 
gether, was the crying of his own heart — litanies of 
woe loosened in his own being. And, like me, he 
wanted never to hear it again 1 

A great sadness came over me. I saw Red’s 
position clearly now, and felt compassion for him. 
Surely his problems were not easily solved. I 
hastened toward the cabin, anxious now to see him 
and explain my conduct before Miss Marks could 
tell him anything. But as I entered the doorway I 
heard low voices, and looking inside, I saw Miss 
Marks, her head buried in Red’s lap, her thin legs, 
with their scant covering of skirts, sprawled on the 
floor. His arms were around her and his face was 
close to hers. She was shaking with sobs which no 
longer rose to her lips, and talking when she could. 
I knew that she would tell him all, and I felt that 
he would despise me. I went out and saddled my 
horse. I took leave of the brother, and, leaving 
what clothing of mine was in the house for a bonfire 
for their righteous hate, I rode away to sleep that 
night on the green velvet of the prairie. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MORTON FORECLOSES. 

In the measureless realm of time has a man who 
makes money dishonestly ever left off at the ac- 
cumulation of a comfortable sum ? I think not, and 
I leave it to the psychological student to tell you 
why not. The still netted Hooven a comfortable 
sum — I knew that from evidence brought out at 
the trial. He could have married Joseph and made 
a creditable showing as a householder; he could 
have bought cattle and established himself as a 
rancher equal to Hawkins or Reynolds; he could 
have paid the mortgage on the Levering home and 
enjoyed the benediction of a dying father. But he 
did none of these things, and again I leave the ex- 
planation to psychology. 

In the Territory of Oklahoma was the ruins of 
the old McGee ranch. A tall stockade of smooth, 
barkless poles stood an unscalable wall around 
stables, corral and house inside. The house was 
low, rambling and old; the windows were deep-set 
and sleepy looking, and there was a broad porch 
fronting the stables. Back of this house, in the 
corner of the stockade, was a dark, deep pit, with a 
slab standing aslant of its edge, from which still 
floated the shreds of a warning rag. There were no 
trees growing near, no vines on the porch, no grass 
in the yard. The soil was beaten hard by the tramp 
of many hoofs, and although no one had lived there 


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297 


for two years, scarcely a weed had struggled 
through the hard earth. Outside the stockade a 
growth of timber stretched down toward the place, 
like a long black arm from the Wichita Hills, and 
Signal Mountain was visible to the discerning eye. 
To the west lay a flat, unbroken plain, rich in 
luscious grasses. 

In McGee’s time this plain had swarmed with 
cattle, and, in the stables inside the stockade, fine 
stallions and beautiful fillies, all gathered from un- 
known sources, were wont to caper, or chafe in the 
stall. In the corral, with red eyes gleaming from 
tangles of mane, wild mustangs were broken to 
saddle and to bit, and gentle pasture stuff was 
toughened to endure long, hard runs. And often, 
too, the stables were darkened and locked, and the 
stallions muzzled, and at the loopholes men stood 
with rifles ready, day and night. The pit had many 
a layer of human bones. For it was a saying of old 
McGee’s that whenever he brought a good horse in 
from the States, its owner always sent him a horse 
or two more to keep it company. It was not an 
idle boast. 

It requires money to start thieving on a big scale 
— any successful thief will tell you that. And what 
successful thief is not a big thief? Hooven had 
dreams of doing things on a big scale. Why not 
begin now? And here? The place suited him 
exactly. He had the money to stock it and could 
begin big, and run big. He even had hopes, I heard, 
of bringing Joseph to preside over the old house, 
and look with innocent wonder into the yawning pit. 
This I learned from that lady herself, for I visited 
at the Levering home on my way up from Sweet- 
water Crossing. 


298 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘‘Mr. Hooven is making ouah home ready for 
me now/’ she told me in a low voice. “It is in the 
Territory, and is a long way from any settlement. 
But I do not care for people — just people, yu know. 
I shall take my servants with me. I shall not be 
very lonely with Jim there, do yu think so?” 

I led her to describe the place, and recognized it 
instantly. For I spent a night there in a former 
search for Hooven. And even made so bold, in the 
gray dawn of my departure, to place on that lean- 
ing slab above the pit the words, “/n pace requies- 
cat/* as an epitaph for the bones mouldering below. 

“I — I try not to flaunt my happiness in the face 
of fathah and mothah,” the girl continued, exhibit- 
ing an emotion rare in her. “Mr. Hooven will keep 
a large gang of cowboys. Don’t yu think my op- 
portunity excellent to — to show them how they 
should live? We — ^Jim and I — will have them sing- 
ing hymns every evening,” she said, her small hands 
clasped wishfully under her chin and her dark eyes 
shining into mine. 

“Better hold your song service out at the pit,” I 
suggested, too miserable to care for consequences. 

“The pit?” She was only mildly curious. “Jim 
did not tell me about a pit. What is it like? — ^but 
yu do not know. Jim has a fine tenor voice — did 
yu evah hear him sing?” 

“Yes,” said I. “I have heard him.” And I re- 
called the words of his song. How they stung me 
then! But they stung me doubly now. I arose in 
bitterness and abruptly left her. But I was not to 
escape so easily. At another time she found me, 
when outside in the garden, with the sunset gilding 
the place with a halo of golden light. The fragrance 
of Summer was on the still air. 


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299 


"'It is beautiful here/^ I said, vaguely hopeful that 
she would not torture me this time with any allusion 
to her lover. I wanted to have her with me just this 
once, with nothing hateful between us, that I might 
mellow and glow in restful peace like the dying day. 
I confess to wish to sit there with her beside me, 
and go out into eternity with the fading of the light. 
"Beautiful — sweet!’' I said, looking at her and 
moving over to make room for her beside me. 

She took the proffered seat and this amazed me. 
I had not hoped for so much. But she was not so 
haughty now as in former days. Often, it seemed 
to me, that she sought my company, for I avoided 
her. Her presence now did not bring me the peace 
I hoped for — it brought me pain instead, for I knew 
that I could never hope to win her. And her inno- 
cent purity going to so vile a slaughter ! — it inspired 
me anew with the ardor of the man-hunt — an ardor 
I was trying to kill, since it was not in the province 
of my duties now to dog Hooven over the earth. 
He was not dealing in contraband goods. To be 
sure, there remained an unexculpated crime, but it 
would be my word against his now, with no goods 
taken on him, and no witnesses to prove his guilt. 
While he could have twenty, unless he chose to 
have more, who would swear their souls away for 
him. So it was no use. I had been telling myself 
as I sat there alone, that I would go away and let 
them be happy together, if they could be — there was 
no happiness for me, anyway. Such was the gloomy 
tenure of my thought until she came and sat beside 
me, and the last beams of the day kissed the raven 
blackness of her hair, touched with radiance the old 
ivory of her brow, and told me the fragrance of her 
gown. 


300 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


‘'This is a beautiful old place/’ she said, looking 
out across the meadow — “beautiful. But it is not 
ouahs any more — did yu know ?” 

“Not that! So Morton has dared to ” 

“Yu know, then?” Her eyes were reading my 
face. “Yes, he foreclosed two months ago. My 
brothah had nearly enough money saved to take up 
the note, but Morton would have all or nothing. 
Fathah tried hard to raise the balance, but failed. 
He takes no interest in anything now.” 

“So I have noticed. It is too bad ! — too awful 
bad I I wish I had known.” 

She drew herself up, her old pride asserting it- 
self. But in another moment her shoulders drooped 
pitifully and her lip quivered. 

“I, too, wish yu had have known,” she said trem- 
ulously. 

“Joseph !” I turned to her with a movement elo.- 
quent with meaning, but which I could not resist 
any more than I could repress the speaking of her 
name. 

She regarded me with round eyes, and her lips 
were parted, showing the tiny pearls that lay in 
line beneath the red ; a soft glow suffused the ivory 
of her cheek. She was unqualifiedly surprised. 

“No,” she said sharply, and rising, stepped out 
into the walk. I thought that she was leaving me 
in anger, but she paused there and I stood humbly 
behind her. 

“No,” she said again, turning to me, her voice soft 
this time and low. “But — oh, dear friend, — no, 
what am I saying? — But listen, something has hap- 
pened to me, — I do not know what! Something 
has; my pride is all gone. Fathah used to say I 


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301 


was all pride, so I know that I am little, indeed, now 
without it. And when the — when fathah knew that 
we must lose ouah home, he came at once and told 
me. He feared the effect on me — he and mothah 
both. But now, when I see his suffering, day aftah 
day, and see the lines deepening in mothah^s face, 
I know that they suffah most.’' 

She paused and I nodded. I felt the sorrow of 
this family deeply. She continued: 

‘'At first I thought it must be my hope in my new 
hope that bore me up undah the reverses of ouah 
family. But now I know it is not that. I do not 
want to go — I mean — I — oh, what am I saying? 
Yu know, that I mean this — I want to do something 
foah my own people — I want to earn some money.” 

I said, while my heart pounded so that I could 
scarcely control my voice, “I always knew that you 
were of .the right metal, Joseph.” 

“Did yu ?” Her laugh had a little frightened note 
in it. “Then yu knew me bettah than I knew my- 
self.” Then hurriedly, “My brothah loves yu — does 
he make yu his confident ? Did yu know that he was 
saving all that money?” 

I replied : “I knew that he hoped to meet the mort- 
gage. I am grieved for him that he failed.” 

She hung her head. “Yes, we are all sorry. But 
it isn’t like he had not tried, yu know.” 

I did know, and I knew, too, that her eyes were 
shining up at me through tears. Moved by an im- 
pulse I could not control, I touched her hand, then 
took it firmly between both of mine. For an instant 
she let it rest there. 

“Oh — oh, please,” she said the next instant, and 
made a little nervous move that had the effect of 


302 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


pushing my hands from hers rather than the with- 
drawing of hers from mine. ‘‘Yu must be kind. I 
am not myself to-night — I mean, any more. But — I 
believe I am bettah! Sometimes I feel that this 
calamity has been visited upon us to make me see 
the good in man — in all the earthly and the worldly. 
Yu said once that all the world was good, being His. 
I have thought of that frequently of late. The 
change began when I resolved to save Jim. And 
this — to live on Morton's land, — in Morton’s house, 
— to be mere tenants of his ! And to know that my 
fathah struggled and planned to shield me — that my 
brothah worked and saved foah us all — why, I — 
how ungrateful I have been!” 

She paused an instant to control her voice, and 
then resumed: 

“I used to — that old me — used to long for the 
time when I could go to Jim and begin my work of 
saving the cowboys — and of saving him. I thought 
that would be all — all that could be asked of me — 
that the sacrifice would be enough to — ^but now, I 
have decided that my wedding must wait. I owe a 
duty here at home — and duty is stronger — stronger 
than anything else with a Levering. I am going to 
Herrington and get work. I can teach private pupils 


“Joseph,” I begged, “do not! Promise me, dear 
girl, that you will not. Oh, Joseph, if only I could 
tell you!” 

“If yu could tell me?” she repeated. We were at 
the house now, and she paused on a step. I found 
that the hand I had given to assist her was gripping 
her arm like a vise. I asked pardon. I do not think 
she heard me. She stood above me, looking down. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


303 


Her voice when she spoke again was low and eager, 
— yu can tell me anything, except — except 
what would be disloyal to Jim.’’ 

''I know,” I said, bowing my head, ^'so, then, I can 
tell you nothing.” 

She drew away from me. But before I released 
her arm, I felt a thrill pass under my hand. 

'‘I will have to tell yu good night now, and — 
goodbye,” she said from the shadow. 

‘'Promise me at least that you will remain at home 
until I come again,” I implored. “It will not be 
long.” 

“I can promise yu nothing,” she said in a voice 
that quivered. “Good night.” 

I sat down on the step where she had stood. The 
day had wholly gone, and there was no moon, but 
to me the world seemed brighter than it had for 
many days. Duty was stronger than love with a 
Levering, was it? Well, I knew better than to try 
to change the Levering — I had tried that once with 
disastrous results. So the thing for me to do was 
to change the duty. That was no easy task. For 
now I must get evidence against Hooven, not only 
to convince a jury but to convince Joseph. I must 
bring him before her stripped of all cloaks — clad 
only in his crimes. And let her see him and know 
him as he was. And when this was done, then 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE MAN HUNT. 

The trail I followed led straight to Herrington. 
And its rain-washed soil was tracked by the hoof- 
print of a single horse. It was thus for miles and 
miles. Signal Mountain faded from sight at the 
left, and then other tracks came in on the trail. But 
I followed it still ; for so well did I know every line 
and mark of that particular horse, that I could and 
had tracked him through a corral. I had trailed 
that horse, and his certain rider, from the McGee 
ranch to the Red River ; from the Red River to the 
Panhandle ; from the Panhandle to the Llano Esta- 
cado, and back again to the ranch ; then north, and 
east, and west, to points not then on maps. And 
always, where that horse went, others followed 
stealthily, and there was thieving of horse, cattle or 
calves. I had followed that trail and slept beside it, 
for countless nights, and days that knew not the 
week’s beginning or end. I had lived thus, until 
when chance presented itself to eat, whether the re- 
past was of broiled game, or dry biscuit, I brought 
to it the same good appetite. And my fat gave way 
to muscle, and my lungs expanded and grew, full of 
free, pure air ; my nerves became steady and my 
eye keen. And now, as the trail led to Herrington, 
I pushed down the strong spring of my trap with a 
certain power, and watched the game hourly leading 
into it. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


305 


I knew where to set my trap and what to bait it 
with, for all trails now led to Herrington. All 
northern and western Texas would be there to- 
morrow, for it was election day. And Texas was 
rent and torn because of this election. Breaths of 
its fury had penetrated even to the cactus and mes- 
quite wilds, and reached me as I rode among them 
on my man-hunt; and every passing stranger had 
paused to tell the latest news of the campaign. For 
a strong man was out for Governor against a weak 
tool, and from that office down effort was being 
made for pure government and active laws. 
Thieves, and the hirelings of thieves, had ruled for 
years ; now the decent element was struggling for 
supremacy — it meant a long and bitter fight. 

But the party of right was finding support in un- 
expected quarters. The ranchers of the north and 
west, together with their cowboys, were worn out 
with the struggle against thieves. Not only were 
they worn out, but they were growing poor; they 
were beginning to suspect each other and to doubt 
their own help — a change was imperative, and they 
were ready to vote for better things. But the saloon 
element, always on the side with laxity and wrong, 
and the vote of thieves was large. The methods 
employed on both sides in the contest were such as 
would have put an Eastern State under military 
rule; almost every conversation ended in a fight; 
political meetings ended in riot; speakers every- 
where were hooted from the rostrum ; and the eve 
of election came with the result as much in the air 
as it had been when the caucuses were held. 

I was barely an hour behind my man, and as I 
said, the trail led straight. Only once did I lose 


306 


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sight of the tracks I followed, and then I spent no 
time in search. I knew that their destination was 
the Boar’s Head saloon, and it mattered little 
whether I arrived there before or after Hooven. 

At the Boar’s Head the political pot boiled fast 
and furious. The place was more than full; men 
crowded the doors front and rear, and bulged out 
at windows; hot words came over their heads and 
the odor of malt. I forced my way inside, and 
found old friends beside the dripping bar — Haw- 
kins, Reynolds, Dock and Darling — it lacked only 
Morton to complete the group. But it came over 
me, as I saw them there, that they would always 
lack that one. I stood apart from them, and they 
looked my way, but no spark of recognition came to 
a face among them. Hawkins talked loud and force- 
ful. He took the curiously illogical view that every- 
thing needed regulating and controlling except the 
saloon. He could see that men should be prohibited 
from stealing calves — he could not see that they 
should be prohibited from selling whiskey — the 
latter affected someone else, the first affected him — 
that was the difference. But now a calm voice 
spoke, its depths drowning the guttural of Hawkins. 

''Could yu make a law, seh, making it a crime to 
steal a hawss, and then set another law alongside of 
it making it right to steal a hawg?” 

They crowded forward to shake hands with Red. 
They praised his growth, his looks, his record. They 
scolded him for neglecting old friends ; they showed 
their pride in him in their words and in their faces. 
But they did not spare him ; they teased him about 
his schoolma’am, and about a horse trade in which, 
so Reynolds had it. Red got a good horse for a no- 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


307 


account mare, by assuring the man that she would 
always bear stud colts — her mother always did ! I 
laughed over this fool joke until I ached. But the 
ranchers went on with their fun. They twitted Red 
about Morton getting the best of him, and in- 
sinuated, with all becoming seriousness, that the 
Major had the schoolma'am promised for a second 
Mrs. Morton. They rallied him about Miss Marks, 
and said they had heard she threw him down, being 
afraid he was too young and tender for her. I 
did not see how they dared to be so personal — 
he would have resented such words from me. But 
he took these men as they meant, and they had their 
fun. At the end of it Hawkins asked Red to drink 
with him, and was hurt at his refusal. 

‘T thought yu’d have sense by now,'’ he said. 

'T have, seh," said Red. “Yu all say that I have 
had success — well, it's been done without stimulant. 
Where is your success, Hawkins ? Has some saloon- 
keeper got it?" 

“One has got a big slice of mine. Red," said Dock 
readily, as in the old days. But the proprietor 
standing behind the bar laughed, and his laugh had 
an ugly sound. It was echoed by a man near the 
door — I could not see him. 

Red glanced at the saloonkeeper, and the sight 
of that huge besotted being seemed to stir the cow- 
puncher's latent blood. 

“We take care of ouah poor here in Texas; we 
build asylums for ouah insane ; we reform ouah bad 
boys ; and we house the lame, the halt and the blind," 
he said, in a voice which, though neither raised 
or loud, penetrated every nook and corner of the 
saloon. “It costs money to do all of that — hundreds 


308 


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and thousands of dollars we pay in taxes to keep all 
of those things goin’. But we leave the cause — the 
great cause of pauperism, of insanity, of deformed 
and weak-minded children — the cause, I say, of all 
them things, we leave untouched. Is that good busi- 
ness V 

Nobody answered this, and Red, looking his audi- 
ence over with critical eye, let his gaze rest on me. 
It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was 
long enough for recognition to flash from his eye 
to mine. Without further sign he resumed his talk. 

‘'Whiskey is the great cause of all of them mis- 
fortunes I mentioned. It is the cause of crime — it 
changes a sane man into a fool in the time it takes 
to tell of it; it makes a good citizen a murderer; 
it ’’ 

“Pish! Rot!’’ the proprietor interrupted with a 
leer at Red. 

“I killed a man, and I wasn’t drunk, neither, when 
I did it,” said Hawkins, pointedly. 

The crowd became denser — this promised of gore. 
Red repeated Hawkins’ statement so that all could 
hear. 

“Yu say that yu killed a man and was sobah when 
yu did it. Where was yu grazin’ them days?” 

“Where? — I was in Nevada. Hot times we had 
them days, washin’ gold up from Wallup. I met 
that son-of-a-gun I shot one night in a saloon. We 
was playin’ cards for dust. He ” 

“Hold on, Mr. Hawkins. Yu say yu was playin’ 
cards in a saloon at Wallup with the man yu shot ?” 

“I was, b’ thunder! Next difference him and me 
had was up at the sluice. I was washing my diggin’s 
and he knocked my pan ! — I ought to have shot him 


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309 


then. I remember it as well as if it was yesterday. 
I had been down for a drink to wash down my 
hard tack, and him and me walked back up to- 
gether, and we had some words cornin’ up about 
that card game I spoke of. Then he knocked my 
pan.” 

'‘The next trouble yu had with him, then, was 
when yu was cornin’ up from a saloon ?” 

"That’s straight. And the next time — the last 
time — I was layin’ down restin’ when he began 
pickin’ on me. We had been washin’ side by side all 
mornin’, and at noon he left his dust, as several 
others did, with me while he went down to get a 
drink. I didn’t go — mind that ! I didn’t go, nor did 
I have a drop up with me. But when he got back, 
the dust in his pan did not look so big to him as it 
did when he started. He said I’d took some of it, 
and I shot him — shot him right where he stood !” 

"The last trouble,” Red repeated significantly, 
"was when the man came up from a saloon, and in 
his drunken mind his gold looked short. He 
accused Mr. Hawkins of takin’ his dust and got 
shot foah his words. That trouble began when both 
men were drunk ; it grew to a second quarrel when 
both men were drunk ; the shootin’ was done when 
one man was drunk — I leave it to this crowd if 
whiskey wasn’t the cause of that shootin’.” 

The crowd, thus appealed to, could only laugh. 

"He was low-down and weak in the head,” said 
Hawkins, in an attempt to justify his act. "If I 
hadn’t have shot him, someone else would have had 
to do it. Or he’d have been in one of them State 
institutions Red talks about. I saved a lot of taxes 
by “ 


310 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Red interrupted with a straight question : ‘‘Mr. 
Hawkins, would yu give a boy of yours whiskey, 
until he wasn’t himself, and then punish him foah 
heatin’ a hawss?” 

“Course not ! No, sir ! I never let a boy of mine 
have a drop of liquor. I don’t believe in it, and 
never did. A young boy has no business with 
whiskey — he don’t know no more than to tank up 
on it, like a hawg.’ 

“It is your duty, then, as a strong, knowin’ man, 
to keep harmful things away from him ?” 

“It is,” said Hawkins, importantly, “and nobody 
can say I have failed in that duty.” 

“Nobody can say that yu have, seh. But why did 
yu kill an on-responsible man, because of what he 
said when drunk?” 

Red turned from the livid Hawkins to the crowd. 
“Gentlemen, your votes to-morrow should make the 
State a fathah to them as need the care of one.” 

The men moved about — there was manifest that 
relaxation which we all feel when the sermon is 
over. And those who did not agree with what Red 
had said now spoke that diverse opinion; but they 
did it in whispers and behind careful hands. They 
wanted no further words from Red — they were 
afraid of him, that was plain. When they moved 
again, I found him close to me. 

“I am right glad to see yu again,” he said, so easily 
and naturally that the Marks cabin seemed a dream. 

I thanked him — not so easily. “I am more than 
glad to see you — and to hear you,” I said. “This 
seems like old times.” 

“Ya-ah.” Then in a cautious tone, “When are 
yu goin’ to shave?” 


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311 


''Not until to-morrow.” 

"Then Til not be knowin’ yu too well this evenin'. 
To-morrow Til look yu 

But he did not finish. There was a mad scramble 
from the door, followed by a crash of glass and the 
crackling of boards, and, with wild, exultant shriek 
from a strained throat. Sleepy, driven wholly wild 
with whiskey, and sitting on a rearing, lunging, 
foam-dashed pony, rode into the room. 

Red sprang forward, spoke a low, commanding 
word to Sleepy, which checked his shouts, took the 
pony by the bit and started to lead him out. But 
as the horse turned, there was a broad curse, fol- 
lowed by an excited shout. I turned to see the pro- 
prietor, already enraged by Red's prohibition talk, 
spring over the bar, revolver in hand. Men were 
upon him instantly, dragging at his rigid arm, but 
before they could pull it down, he got clear aim and 
fired, striking the horse in the hip. The poor animal 
uttered that heart-stilling cry of the wounded 
equine, and maddened with pain and fear, lunged 
and reared, jarring lamps in their brackets and 
bottles from shelves. The proprietor's revolver 
clicked for another shot, but quick as a flash. Red's 
gun was out and aimed at the man's head. One 
glance into the steel gray eye that held to his and he 
wilted and dropped his gun. 

"Why,” Red demanded in a voice of thunder, 
"should yu become so enraged at a man for riding 
into your saloon when yu sold him 'the stuff that 
made him do it?” 

"Gentlemen,” he said, speaking again to the 
crowd, "this here is the strongest argument I can 
give yu against free whiskey. This man works 


312 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


undah me at R 2 rancho. And I can trust him day 
or night with cattle, with men, with money, with 
anything but whiskey. Three years he has worked 
there, and drawn his salary regular, and it has come 
here — the big part of it has come in here. The first 
drink this man has given him free each month, and 
the rest was just like robbin’ a child. Will yu stand 
here and see a man robbed ? — and stand still and see 
the robber shoot him ? Will yu do that, gentlemen ? 
— I won’t ! I’ll vote to make things like this impos- 
sible in the State of Texas.” 

The crowd cheered lustily. Men who had differed 
from Red in his previous talk, now warmly seconded 
his words. Red gave the applause no heed. He led 
the horse out, and gave directions for the care of 
Sleepy, who had been dragged from under his horse 
in the melee, and had now succumbed into a help- 
less mass that shamed the human form. A man be- 
side me now spoke his thoughts out: 

'Tf we only could get that red-headed orator to 
make us a speech to-night at the square — if only we 
could.” 

“Do you lack for good talkers ?” I asked. 

“Do we ? — did you ever know a cause that didn’t ? 
There are plenty of us who can talk to two or three, 
but a man who can talk to a crowd and convince 
them is a rarity. We need that fellow bad.” 

“I will call him over,” I said, for I saw him come 
in. 

“You know him, then?” 

“As well as any man ever will.” And then, at my 
nod. Red came across to us. I left the two to talk in 
their own way, and in a few minutes saw them quit 
the saloon together. 


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313 


A moment of quiet followed their exit. The 
crowd had thinned considerably. Looking toward 
the door, I saw two of my men — Hooven was near. 
Reynolds and Hawkins were again in politics, oath- 
deep. They wanted a sheriff elected that could catch 
a cattle thief and hold him until they could get there 
and hang him. They shouted this want out, and re- 
peated it. 

‘'A kitten can kill a mouse after it's caught," I 
said, and saw the hot blood surge into Reynolds' 
scar. Hawkins bent over me to say: 

‘‘Yu show me the thief, yu little duffer, and I'll kill 
him without askin' any favors of yu." 

“I'll show him to you before long," I said. “Keep 
around here and you'll see him." 

They stared at me, each man laid a hand signifi- 
cantly on a hip. Just then a familiar sound reached 
my ear — it came from the rear of the building: 

“On Sunday night I'll ho-hold her ti-ti-tight. 

And she'll sit on my kne-e-e-e ! 

On Sunday night I'll kiss her — Whee-e !" 

Hooven staggered through the crowd to the bar. 
He made an unsteady motion with a hand, and, ad- 
dressing everybody, said : 

“Come — come up, fellers, and drink on me — me 
and my bride ! Come on — whiskey for everybody — 
on me, it is, and the girl that's goin' to bear my kids ! 
Whee ! Have some ! She's swell, too, you bet ! — 
blue blood and all that guff — fellers, here's to M — 
Miss L " 

He held a cup of whiskey above his head as he 
talked. He slopped it and the liquor dripped from 


314 


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his hair and ran down his face. He did not mind — • 
he was drunk to all save this one thing — that he was 
going to marry Joseph. His whiskey was going out 
to the crowd to celebrate that event. I could not 
endure it. I had laid my plans otherwise. But I 
could not let him speak her name before those 
ruffians. I laid a firm hand on his shoulder. 

'‘Zant Logan, alias Jim Hooven,’’ I said, ''I arrest 
you for cattle stealing on seven counts; for horse 
stealing on five counts ; for a murder done on the 
Canadian; for defrauding the Government of the 
United States by operating a still in ’’ 

He sprang back, his face turned full on me, had 
all the marks of that fear which dethrones reason. 
He was the color of ashes and he shook like a leaf. 
But I saw his move to his gun, and I leveled my 
own — the muzzle was close to his face. For a long 
moment he looked into the chamber of death. 

Then I felt strong hands on me, pulling me down 
from behind. As my hand swerved from my aim, 
I saw Hooven swing about under the hands of my 
men. They had him — But who was holding me? 

I shouted commands. I wriggled and struggled 
to turn around. I felt my clothing give away, and 
then my revolver was discharged in my hand — I 
saw where the bullet burrowed its way through the 
floor. And still those strong hands held me and I 
could not see whose hands they were. There were 
two persons. Why did not the bystanders take them 
off? Was I to be — ^but now I went down suddenly 
flat on my back. My revolver was wrenched from 
my hand and fired above my head. The flash of the 
discharge seemed to burn into my eyes — my ears 
were stopped with sound. 


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315 


I Sprang to my feet. Through the smoke I saw 
Hooven sliding inert from the hands of my men. 

‘'Who shot that man?’’ I demanded, standing 
dazed and disheveled. 

‘T did,” said a voice behind me, and turning I 
beheld two of the Morton boys, staring at the dead 
with all their mother’s fearful eyes. 

“Why?” I demanded hotly. 

“He killed my father,” said the elder. “Six hours 
ago he shot dad. I seen him do it! — me and Jim 
both seen him ! — and we follered him here.” 

I turned to the gaping crowd. “In the name of 
the Government,” I said, showing my badge of 
authority, “I demand this body for criminal burial.” 

No opposition was offered to this, and my men 
took Hooven up and carried him out. We found a 
place in a vacant building to lay the body. I left my 
men on guard there and went out. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE WRONG IS RIGHTED. 

The night air pressed like a cool hand on my hot 
brow as I walked down town. From every group 
of men I passed I heard politics, and I hurried on, 
for I wanted to escape it. I wanted to think, to 
plan, to dream of the future. But this politics pur- 
sued me. At the town park, where I hoped to find 
seclusion, I found a jam of men, and at the centre, 
where were flaming torches, I saw a figure that 
talked and gesticulated. It was Red — the crowd was 
permitting him to speak ! It was a great victory for 


316 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


him. But I did not go to hear what he said to them. 
I pressed on, and in a dark side street found the 
quiet I sought. But my mind was chaos and I could 
not think. I walked aimlessly on, and finally there 
appeared before me, more of the flaming torches. 
They marked a kind of amphitheatre, and here, too, 
was a large concourse of people — women and men. 

‘'We are between two necessities,’’ said a fellow- 
stroller, overtaking me, “that is — between politics 
and religion.” 

He was a citizen of Herrington, and he expanded 
over the town’s first Chautauqua Assembly. It 
showed the new spirit abroad in Texas, he said, and 
in Herrington especially. They had the best speak- 
ers, and a vocalist from the East. And as he talked 
the voice of that vocalist reached us in a sweet song. 
We quickened our steps. 

The place was full. We found seats with difficulty. 
The speaker had concluded his usual discourse, and 
now, after the solo, he was giving a wholesome talk 
on good citizenship. The crowd was willing to 
listen, and he made it long. At length the little 
vocalist arose, slipped from her place on the rostrum 
and hurried down an aisle. At the entrance I ac- 
costed her. 

“Birch!” I said. “How are you?” 

She caught her breath in a little gasp, and stepped 
back. 

“It is these whiskers — you never saw them be- 
fore, for they are a late crop. Listen — Have you a 
nail?” 

Her pent-up breath went out in a sigh of relief. 
“How dreadful yu look !” she said. 

“I am sorry. I don’t believe the barbers are work- 
ing to-night,” I explained, with a smile. 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


317 


‘'Oh, don't smile,” she cried in dismay. “It looks 
like you were hiding behind those whiskers, making 
faces at me!” 

“Like I was speaking out of a bush,” I suggested. 

“Yes, and if they were red it would be — Ooo-o, I 
forget my piety.” She ended with that delightful 
little cooing laugh which I had loved in her mother. 

“Yes, since you are a Chautauqua singer,” I 
warned. “Birch, I congratulate you. I always ad- 
mired your voice. You know, I ” 

“Oh, don't !” She stopped me with a touch on my 
arm. “I am tired of it already! — not the singing, 
but the life.” 

“Surely not !” I exclaimed in amazement. “I only 
wish I had ” 

I was going on to say I wished I had known and 
had brought Red down with me, but I thought of 
that Marks woman in time to check myself, and I 
finished, “I had gotten these whiskers shaved off 
before I went in, then perhaps you had been half as 
glad to see me as I am to see you.” 

“Indeed, I am glad to see yu, Misto Badger !” she 
said gaily, “and I want to have a long, long talk 
with yu, — ^but not to-night. Not until yu can meet 
me face to face.” And she gave another delightful 
little laugh. 

“I have great news about — about your friend, 
Morton. But — I had better save it with the rest 
until to-morrow, hadn't I?” 

“No,” she said, “tell me now. That poor little 
woman! — what a life she led with that old — old 
hog!” 

“If you are sorry for her on that score you may 
cease ” 


318 


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-She is not ’’ 

‘‘No, he is.’; 

Again she sighed in relief. “I am not sorry — she 
can have a piano now. But what did he — No, do 
not tell me to-night. I am veah tired. It seemed to 
me that I could not wait to sing my last song. I 

want to be alone and think! — get ready for ” 

She paused, then said: “Excuse this rambling, but 
I am truly veah tired. To-morrow yu shall tell me 
everything. I shall not spare yu. I shall be free all 
day, so come — but not too early.” 

We were at the door of her lodging. I promised 
to spend every moment of the next day with her. 
But at my leaving she called again: “If you come 
early I shall scold you for foah days ! Remembah !” 

At eight o’clock on election day, the town was 
quiet. The boisterous element of the night were 
sleeping off their drunk; those who had just come 
in were not yet livened up. I made a careful toilet 
not three feet from Red’s head and left him sleep- 
ing soundly — I prided myself on the feat. Break- 
fast done, I recalled Birch’s care lest I come too 
early, so I went around to see how my men were 
making it. They gave to me the letters and papers 
belonging to the dead man. Then I sent in a mes- 
sage to the Department. Returning to my room, I 
found Red up and gone. Arriving at Miss Hallo- 
way’s lodging, I found her also gone. “To Squirrel 
Cave,” I was informed, '-with a friend.” 

Accordingly I ordered my horse and rode out on 
the broad, sun-baked thoroughfare that led to the 
cave. I left my horse, with two others, at the base 
of the incline, and made my way up the path on 
foot. When yet some distance from the cave, I saw 


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319 


Birch standing on a high rock above the entrance. 
Beside her stood a man, and, as I did not recognize 
the man, I stopped there. To pass time away, I took 
out the letters and papers belonging to Hooven and 
glanced them through. A curious feeling of re- 
vulsion came over me, and something like a sting of 
guilt, as I examined the contents of another man’s 
pockets — those things of all things the most private 
— his letters ! And I found myself at once looking 
for and dreading to find among them a letter from 
Joseph. There was none. The dear girl had not 
written lately, for here was one a month old, and 
here 

I stopped. It seemed minutes before I thought to 
breathe again, and then my chest heaved with the 
labor like that of an exhausted runner. I sprang to 
my feet and hurried up the path. Coming to the 
last steep incline, I went slowly, and above the 
pounding of my heart I heard Red’s voice. He was 
saying : 

‘T have knocked around a lot since I saw yu last 
time. But not wild like I used to do. Yu did me a 
lot of good.” 

‘Tt is very kind of yu to say so,” said Birch, in a 
well-schooled society voice. ‘T must be going now. 


‘T hope I may see yu again,” Red interrupted, his 
tone betraying his deep yearning for her. 

''Oh, why, yes. I probably will be in Texas again 
some time. My work takes me everywhere. I had 
hoped to — ^to visit at your home, but the drive would 
tire me too much. Goodby.” 

She ran quite against me, for she had been walk- 
ing as she talked, and so did not observe my hurried 


320 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


approach. When she saw my face she turned 
entirely pale. 

"‘What — what is it?’’ she cried. 

I pushed past her. ‘‘Wait here,” I said. ''I must 
have a word with Red first. I will join you in a 
moment.” 

Red changed color, too, when I had stopped him. 
I suppose I did betray my excitement. I know I 
was bursting with the great news I held. 

‘Tell me,” said I, gripping his arm, “are you 
going to — to marry that Marks woman? — have you 
given that up ?” 

“Yes, didn’t yu hear the fello’s sayin’ she’d — yu 
know it was all foah her brothah. I’m plumb sorry 
foah that ” 

“Then here is a letter.” I thrust my find into his 
nerveless hand. “It is a little late, but ” 

My voice failed me. He looked at the soiled 
envelope. It was badly worn, but had never been 
opened. Across its face was traced in even char- 
acters his name, as Birch had written it that Spring 
noonday long ago. 

“How did yu ” His own voice broke. His 

fingers trembled so that he could scarce break the 
seal. 

“It was found on Hooven’s — ^Logan’s body,” I 
blundered. And turned around at a touch on my 
arm. 

“Is it my lettah ?” Birch asked, as cold as ice. “If it 
is, then I forbid Mr. Levering to rea ” 

In my surprise and dismay at this unexpected de- 
velopment, I caught her in my arms and bore her 
bodily away. As I went I told her how I had come 
by the letter — tried to make her understand that 


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321 


Red knew nothing of it. Then put her down on a 
rock. ‘‘Now, Miss Birch, will you be good?’’ I 
asked, still keeping my hold on her. 

“No,” she flashed, “and yu will be sorry for your 
impudence if he dares ” 

But Red had followed us and now handed the 
letter to her. 

“It’s enough foah me just to know that yu wrote 
it,” he said, in a tone so sad and gentle that it 
brought her gaze to his face and arrested the quick 
move she had made to tear the letter to shreds. 

“If yu was kind to me in that,” he continued, “it 
would be sweet foah me to read — if yu scolded me 
it would still be sweet — anything yu could write 
would be the sweetest thing that evah come to me. 
And if I had got it then — when you wrote it to 

me ” He drew a deep breath as if the thought 

were intoxicating to him. “If I had got it then, I 
reckon that no hawss could have traveled fast 
enough foah me to take yu an answer to it.” 

His eyes rested on me as he concluded, and I 
bowed my head under the heart-hungry gaze. He 
went on: 

“I was numb, them days, numb with pain. I 
reckon if I hadn’t have been I nevah could have 
lived. Foah with all the numbness I was scarcely 
able to keep myself a-goin’ day aftah day. I seemed 
to have no limbs left to walk on, and no mind to 
move them, and yet I walked around, and talked, 
and pretended I was alive. Foah all the time there 
was a little spark of hope that burned and would 
not go out — I kept hopin’ and hopin’, and every 
hope, when it died, left me moah pain to bear. I 
reckon yu thought 


322 


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‘"Oh, don’t !” said Birch, in a voice that quivered. 
“Please do not.” 

“No,” he answered, “it’s no use livin’ ovah that 
time. But I wished yu to know. Miss Halloway, 
that I wanted the lettah. I wanted it worse than I 
wanted life — here or hereaftah.” 

“And I — I wanted yu to come,” Birch sobbed, 
sinking down on the rock. “I counted the days 
after I gave my letter to that ugly man — five ! — and 
they passed and yu did not come. I thought that 
something must have delayed the lettah. And I 
w^aited — and waited — and waited — waited ” 

Her voice sank to a whisper on that last word. 
But then it rose to a cry. “And yu did not come! 
Oh, yu did not come I — ^yu did not !” 

He bent over her. I could see that all his powers 
were employed in self-restraint. He did not touch 
her. He said : 

“Sweetheart, my soul almost left my body, I 
wanted to come that bad.” 

She looked at him, calm, direct. Then she sighed 
and glanced down at the letter, lying half torn in 
twain in her lap. She turned it over, once, twice. 
“Why, Red did not get my lettah,” she said, as if 
speaking to the air. “That ugly man kept it — 
why ” 

She sprang at Red like a tigress, and gripped his 
arms. “Oh, tell me that yu did not know!” she 
cried, in a frenzy. “Tell me that yu did not know ! — 
that yu would have walked — crawled to ” 

“My darling ! My sweetheart !” He folded her in 
his arms. “Yes, darling, I would have crawled to 
yu if I had known — ^if I had even thought — there — 
did I hurt yu, darling? My heart is bursting! I 


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323 


am mad with joy! Sweetheart, your lips — No? — 
Just one 

But Birch only clung to him, and sobbed, and 
begged him make her know that he wanted to come 
to her — always wanted to come. Red pleaded with 
her, he poured his love over her like a flood, but she 
seemed deaf to his words — blind to all save this one 
thing — he must make her know that he wanted to 
come. Finally, at an appealing look from Red, I 
put in a mild word of rebuke. At that she released 
her lover and turned to me. 

‘‘Yu heyah?’’ she asked, with a childish pout. 
“Go away, — don't yu know enough to go away ?" 

“Well," said I, hurt, “if I am a dummy, you are 
another. So there. Mistress Halloway!" And I 
went away. 

At the hotel I awaited their coming. It was even- 
ing and all the expectancy of an uncounted election 
vote was in the air. The town, drank dry, since 
noon, was in a quiet but incessant turmoil. The 
lower floor and verandas of the hotel were crowded 
and jammed with men, — and every man of them had 
a grouch, and he talked about it. I waited in the 
parlor upstairs. At times I was fearful that Red 
would not attempt to bring Birch through the crowd. 
And then, just as I had given up hope, I saw his 
happy face at the partly-opened door. It swung 
back and Birch ran across to me. 

“Yu deah old peacemaker !" she cried ecstatically, 
patting my head the while, as if I were some pet 
canine, which pleased me mightily. But I answered 
sourly : 

“Yes, I would! — after calling your old friend a 
dummy." 

“Oh, did I? But yu know that I did not know 


324 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


what I was saying. I was so happy, just then, that 
if I had not done something a little mite mean, I 
would have been transformed.’^ 

She stood with her shoulder just touching my 
breast; her head was turned and lifted, exposing 
her milk-white throat; her eyes were ablaze with 
the warmth and fire of love. Was there ever so 
glorious a woman? Only one other, thought I, and 
answered : 

‘‘No, anything rather than that you be trans* 
formed. Miss Birch. So — it is all right.” 

“No-o, it is not all right yet,” she said archly, “but 
I am going to do something foah yu that will make 
it all right. I am going to be your good fairy — • 
Now yu stand still, and — watch!” 

She ran back to the door. Puzzled, I stood still 
watching and listening. I heard entreating whispers. 
Then Miss Levering stepped in, looking bashful 
and compelled. 

“Joseph I” I cried, possessing myself of both her 
hands. “You here?” 

“Why, yes. I have been here several weeks. Miss 
Birch told me last evening that yu were in town.” 

“Then you did not — you could not do as I 
wished ?” 

“No-o,” her color came; “but please do not scold 
me — I am so homesick!” 

Poor girl! Of course she was homesick! I 
longed to take her in my arms and comfort her — I 
tried to accomplish my desire. But she stepped 
back from me. I told her that she was free, and she 
shuddered, “I know, thank yu — it would have been 
a — a living hell.” But she repulsed me still. 

The others came in. Birch’s happiness was con- 
tagious ; Red’s was intoxicating. I felt like shouting 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


325 


for joy. Even Joseph’s pale face glowed as Birch 
chattered about her, saying : 

''And Joseph talks about that thirty dollars she has 
earned as if it were a rare piece of bric-a-brac, suit- 
able only to be wrapped in cotton and laid in a box.” 

"We will do just that with it,” I declared. "It 
was too hard earned to spend.” 

I was taking a great deal for granted, as you well 
know, when I spoke that "we.” But Joseph seconded 
me. 

"No,” she said with decision. "We will do nothing 
of the kind. I shall give that money to fathah.” 

"As you wish, dearest,” I whispered, and watched 
her face burn as with answering love. 

Then we all talked at once, for we had much to 
say and could not yet believe that we had a whole 
lifetime to say it in. Red made frequent trips to 
the balcony to listen to the shouting on the street 
and so learn when the vote was counted. Return- 
ing, he hung restlessly near Birch’s chair. Finally 
I thought of something. 

"Red,” I said happily, "I was talking with the 
Morton boys this morning, and I believe we can buy 
the old place back now, without trouble. You would 
like that, Joseph?” 

She did not answer, but her hands sought each 
other in a tight clasp. Red paused in his way to 
the balcony. 

"We can do it ! Of course we can. The boys are 
square.” 

I smiled. From the street there arose a great 
shout of victory for law, victory for saloon con- 
trol, victory for Texas ! A thousand throats voiced 
it. And Red, with Birch beside him, was out there 
drinking it in. 


326 


THE UPPER TRAIL 


Joseph arose from her chair. And while I sat 
wondering if she was going to join her brother on 
the balcony, she suddenly put out her hands to me. 

‘'I want yu to take me back to the old home, and 
keep me there always — v/ill yu?” 

I need not tell you what I said or did. 

The next morning we rode out and crossed the 
bridge over the Brazos. Ed, who had joined our 
party, on his way to Red River Station, said : 

‘‘We all can go by the Lower Trail now; it’s all 
open and clear, and a lot shorter.” 

I hesitated, waiting for the girls to express a 
preference. But Red spoke up : 

“The Uppah Trail is the one we take, Birch 
honey,” he said. 

We rode on until nearly home. Then Red stopped 
his horse and shading his eyes, looked west. 

“What do yu see ?” Birch asked. 

“My land — will yu like to live down there, 
honey ?” 

I did not hear her reply, but it must have been 
entirely satisfactory, for he leaned over in his saddle 
and kissed her. 

But the sacrifice of living on a lonely cattle ranch 
was spared Birch. The R2 Company gave Red a 
place as buyer at its headquarters in Herrington, 
and from that position he has risen to that of one of 
the foremost citizens of the State he helped to make. 
And, to-day, when anyone speaks to him of his re- 
markable success in life, and suggests, as many do, 
the stock markets of New York, as a fitting climax 
to his career, he answers in that proud phrase he 
once spoke to me : 

“Texas, seh, is big enough for the biggest kind of 
a man.” 







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